A Nation's Salvation
by EternalStarhaven
Summary: The ancients came, and the ancient went, leaving behind a path of destiny for the last water nation. The land nations must band together to save her, or the world will fall beneath the waves as was foretold in the beginning.
1. A Promise Between Brothers

Prologue

* * *

Nation's Salvation

A Promise Between Brothers

Prologue

* * *

He was an ancient, the first, having existed since the beginning. Before there was land, there had only been the vast sea and the beautiful world beneath, but time had brought forth the mountains, the trees, and the land. With it, came the surface dwellers, mixed with others like himself, only slightly different. There was peace, and there was war... there was life, and there was death. As more and more nations spread out across the world, his people slowly dwindled until only a handful remained, and he was tired... so very tired. Even the birth of his son had not changed that, and he could only hope that his half-sister remained strong enough to endure.

With the disappearance of the island cities centered around the coastal waters of Spain, she had reverted to a childlike state, often residing within the Scandinavian territories and care. He had no worries when she was with Norway or Denmark, two of the more level headed sons of Scandinavia. They, more than anyone, understood the need for her survival. He knew his death would bring her further pain and sadness, but his time had come, his son not yet ready to claim his birth right.

It was on a cold, and windy morning that he appeared before the older of the twins, violet eyes looking up from his daily chores to stare at the approaching water nation. Standing, he put down his weapon, reaching for the older male's arm in a sign of respect and friendship. They understood one another... and with a weary sigh he sat and watched for a long time as Norway continued to clean and polish his hunting tools for a migration across the ice bridge that extended from Siberia to an unknown world. The Scandinavian Countries made this trip frequently, a tradition that had begun with his father, passed down to his sons. With each migration, some stayed behind, while others came back and with them, much needed food and supplies so that everyone could survive the harsh winters that existed in the Scandinavian countries. Only small portions of the land now showed promise, no longer completely covered in ice, and with it, the birth of a new nation, Iceland. "How fares your father?"

"Much the same as yourself, I suppose," Norway answered. "You are two of the oldest, and with that comes a heavy burden. More and more of the ancients have already passed, leaving their legacies and futures with their sons or daughters."

"What I'm about to do... it's beyond cruel, but necessary for the survival of the planet and land nations."

Sensing something serious, Norway once again paused in his work, trying to determine if this was something for him alone, or for his twin as well. Making up his mind, he stood, said something to one of his younger warriors, and watched him take off. "I ask that it wait... I feel it necessary that Denmark here your story as well."

"Where is she?"

"Most likely with Sweden. Where our father has a certain fondness for her, Sweden is the one she prefers and stays close to. Not that he'll offer an objection. Regardless of how she became a child again, she was the legendary warrior he strove to model himself after, the undefeated water nation that many wanted and failed to acquire."

"Is she still unable to grow?"

"For now, and Finland seems to know the reason why. However, he says nothing, even to Sweden, believing that the past belongs in the past… that it's best she never recalls the events that led to the destruction of her water nations."

The ancient stared at the open waters, his expression troubled, as if he were trying to decide, whether it was worth telling them the truth of her past or letting it vanish like the rest of her legacy. In addition to having grown weary of existence, he had a second reason for coming to them, to passing on his powers to another. "She will recall what happened," he finally admitted. "Her ties to Sweden… to the Nordic Nations in general, may or may not make a difference."

"I don't understand… so what if she remembers… we'll continue to protect her."

"I am surprised that she is the connection that keeps the five of you from warring against one another."

"She makes it easier to find food and the migration routes that we depend on for our survival. Without her… we'd most likely find ourselves fighting for the resources like the other nations. However, we must remind ourselves that she is plagued with nightmares, often too afraid to sleep without one of us around."

"Sweden has set aside his need for more land?"

"I doubt it; but he doesn't look to his brothers if that is your concern. For now, he's decided that it is in our best interests and hers to remain unified, especially if other nations choose to attack and take what belong to us. Iceland is a newly formed nation, vulnerable if we allow it. Denmark is perhaps the easiest of the five to invade, but impossible to conquer due to the proximity to Norway and Sweden. If he chooses to explore and conquer, it is away from our homelands."

"Then while the Nordic brothers are in agreement, I ask that you also invite Sweden and Finland." It was rare for the Scandinavian Nations to regard her with such favor, considering their view of the female gender. However, they protected their women above everything else, knowing that without them, there was no future.

Norway gave the order, the two nations enjoying the occasional meal. Continuing his preparations for hunting and exploration, he took note of how isolated and resigned the older nation seemed… his father wasn't much better, but there seemed a heavy weight on the water nation's shoulders that his father lacked. As soon as the snow thawed, Norway would have his people on the move… it was necessary… to hunt, prepare for the following winter, and strengthen their defenses against outsiders.

One evening, sitting around a small fire, Norway asked a question that none of the brothers had dared, to include Finland. "Will she recover?" It was at this moment that his three brothers arrived, first with Denmark, then Sweden and Finland. Iceland, Norway decided, would remain with the human women, still too young to involve himself in political or military affairs.

Norway knew that Sweden must have had a successful raiding season, his expression that of contentment and satisfaction. Sweden rarely smiled, but there wasn't a need. It was the lack of hostility, the way he returned the warrior's embrace without much force behind it… All of them acknowledged the ancient water nation, none of them willing to fight in his presence. It was the same with Scandinavia… Norway had no idea why younger nations backed down with one of the ancients, but it meant they'd have an unspoken moment of peace while the water nation was present.

He regarded each of the brothers in turn, his gaze settling on the oldest, Finland. At first glance, he seemed passive, willing to do or support anything Sweden wanted. However, that was a choice, not due to a weakness or lack of will. How much did Finland know of Atlantis and how she came to their shores, broken and seemingly without a nation of her own? "I'm assuming that you left her with your father?" he asked Sweden.

"I find it best that she is not reminded of what she had or doesn't have," Sweden defended, daring the water nation to find fault with his decision. Atlantis was his to care for, and if he felt she needed to stay away from Oceanonis, he'd not change his mind. It seemed his brothers agreed, especially Finland.

"Eventually she will remember," he warned a second time. "I brought her to the Scandinavian Nations for several reasons… one because of the close ties that your father and I share. Second, on the land, she is safe, out of the reach of those that wish her harm."

"What are you talking about?" Denmark asked. "If she has an enemy… should you not have warned us sooner?"

"Her enemy was mine to deal with… however, I underestimated his abilities and resourcefulness. Hence the reason for why I have come. After this meeting, my existence will fade the moment I pass my powers to her. I considered my son, but he is young and unaware of the power that lies dormant within him. Should he lose his land or people, he will not die like other land nations. Atlantis has a complicated past and her war is at a stand-still; there will come a time when she must face and fight the one that destroyed her island nations, the one that nearly decimated the hybrid nations that exist along the Atlantic and Mediterranean Waters."

"You're saying that she lost," Sweden demanded, his voice filled with shock and disbelief.

"In a one-on-one fight… there was no one stronger. However, due to the circumstances behind her enemy's ability to control and steal another nation's power… she found herself in a situation that demanded she protect the hybrid nations… it was an agreement all her island nations agreed upon, thus the legend of Atlantis was born. To prevent him from gaining their powers or a foot hold in her territories, her neighboring water nations sacrificed their powers and lives… to whom is unknown to most."

"Atlantis gave as much power as she was able to protect the hybrid nations, resulting in the child that you now harbor and protect. When she'll recover… I cannot tell you when that may or may not happen. Atlantis and I are the last, two of the remaining water nations that he needs to renew his efforts of conquering the hybrid nations. I am no longer strong enough to stop him, hence the reason I am giving my powers to her. That will buy the time the land nations need, but it places a certain amount of danger on the five of you. Should he acquire her, nothing will stop him from decimating the world, reclaiming the land that formerly belonged to the ocean."

One of the women, despite Norway's objections, brought him Iceland, the child breaking out in a large smile as he reached for his older brother. "I apologize," the woman whispered. "He is currently beyond our abilities to handle…" He didn't have to ask… Iceland when he wanted something, became a terror if denied. His eyes were like Norway's, but a shade lighter, his expression deceptively naïve and innocent.

Giggling, the boy grasped at his brother's beard, his fingers curling into the warmth, but the moment the other brothers saw him, he had no choice but to pass him around so that they too had a chance to bond with him. Even Sweden seemed to have a soft spot for the infant, holding him close while they kept their attention focused on one of the remaining water nations, Oceanonis. "Is it wise to force more hardship upon her," Sweden demanded, passing the child to Finland. Out of the group, Finland was the most passive, and had an affinity for younger nations. "She's quiet, nothing like the warrior we remember her as, and often looks to the sea in confusion and fear. That is not something a water nation should ever fear but embrace. There are scars covering nearly every inch of her body, burns and lacerations from the savage attacks against her island nations. Is what you're about to ask of her so necessary that you cannot let her exist without further pain or burden?"

"I do not make this decision lightly, and I'm aware that my death will cause her further emotional and physical distress. We are connected, in more ways than one, but if I remain… I'm placing a grave burden and responsibility upon the Scandinavian Nations, but there are none that I trust more. My question is, knowing that her enemy is a water nation, an ancient that is over 750 million years old, will you continue?"

The brothers hesitated, all of them wanting to say yes. However, they couldn't refute the danger to their people or themselves. Atlantis had been a powerful water nation… if she had struggled and fallen… how did they expect to protect her, or their people should he discover where she was hidden? Land wars were one thing, but fighting the ocean, the rivers, the rain… that was beyond their powers. However, could they afford not to protect her?

"You said that we'll have time… can you explain?" Finland spoke, his brothers all turning to him in surprise.

"How familiar are you with the 'Great War?'" the ancient asked him. Finland paled, his fingers raking through his hair.

"The war of the water nations… the floods that swallowed the land, killing nations and humans alike…"

"That war is far from over… the final pieces to his plan are Atlantis, my son, and the hybrids that acquired the powers of her fallen island nations."

"How long must we wait for your son to realize who and what he is?"

"He is of two worlds, one of the land, and one of the water. The latter part of himself remains dormant, and he will suffer much before it awakens." Oceanonis's gaze fell upon the sea, his red-blue eyes dull from the millions, upon millions, of years he had spent protecting and roaming them. "She will one day return to the water, and it is the friendship and fondness for the land nations that will save this world."

"Her legacy must fall into legend… it's the only way to keep him from finding her. Atlantis, once I pass, will have full control over everything related to the water… the rivers, the lakes, the sky, the ocean… her power will become limitless."

None of the brothers had had any idea how vital she was, the ties she had to the water and the lands connected to the water. They wanted to ask Oceanonis to stay, but if he felt that he no longer had a choice but to pass his power on before it was taken… they had to accept his decision. Atlantis, a broken water nation, had to suffer greater hardships, angering and humbling them equally. "Does she have to fight him on her own? Is there nothing more that we can do?" Sweden roared, leaping to his feet in rage. Norway and Denmark had to jump up and restrain him, startled that Sweden was willing to fight.

Oceanonis had to admire the younger warrior's fighting spirit, and perhaps it was nations like Sweden that would lead to her enemy's defeat. "She chose to protect the hybrids… the reason is beyond my knowledge, but perhaps a vital component to your survival. Perhaps if you were to do the same… it is a possibility, not a certainty."

Sweden's desire to protect Atlantis made it easier for the ancient to leave her in his care. Any differences the five may have in the future, they would always place her protection and well being above themselves. Finland sighed… "Your son… are we to protect him as well?"

Oceanonis turned his gaze to the fire, waging an internal conflict with the request. He knew his son may or may not need them in the future, but he didn't want his decisions influenced with knowing who or what he was before the time was right for it. "Yes and no. He's plenty strong enough without additional influences, but should he truly need the help, then I am not opposed to such assistance. Until the awakening of his powers, you are not to tell him from where he originates from."

"How will any of us know?"

"You will know the traits of a water nation; our hair and eyes are the most notable. In the water, his hair will change colors, but revert to normal upon the surface once dry. It is only when that trait does not revert, will you know for sure that he has embraced that part of himself. Like Atlantis, his life and destiny are ones of hardship and great suffering."

"His name?"

"His land name is Prussia." The expressions to his claim was almost comical to the aged nation, and he might have laughed if he wasn't so tired. Prussia, despite his young age, was definitely a force of reckoning on the northern parts of the European shores, always at odds with Turkey, Russia, Hungry, Austria, the British Empire, and the Holy Roman Empire for his lands.

They all had had their run ins with Prussia, and he didn't hold back when it came to battle. The red eyes did make sense though, now that they compared it to his father's. "We will not abandon her," Norway promised, something he did not say or agree to lightly. The other three nodded in agreement as well, something that made leaving easier. Sweden still regarded him with an intense rage, but fighting one as old as Oceanonis was suicidal, if not insane. These three nations were Vikings, and they always protected their own; anyone that tried to take it, suffered, and that protection would now fall upon Atlantis, and at times Prussia.

"Did you want to see her?" Denmark asked, watching the flash of pain and guilt in the older nation's eyes. For a moment, Oceanonis almost said yes, and then shook his head. It was best that she didn't, not wanting to make this any harder on her than it already was. "Best that she remembers the way I was rather than what I've become. I only ask that you pass on a message. Protect my son and the descendants of the water nations."

"That's the problem," Sweden snapped; "She doesn't remember! Her memories are fragmented and chaotic, violent and full of betrayal and pain! Why would you leave her like that?"

"The new memories will replace those, or at least make them easier. I will only serve to remind her of what she once had, and that is far crueler." Sweden almost challenged him, trembling with so much hate and rage that it was everything Denmark and Norway could do to keep him rooted. Oceanonis almost smiled, and then he was gone, not bothering for an excuse for his actions, or an apology. They all knew that when a nation got tired they moved on, that their father was close to such a journey himself. However, unlike the five of them, they were not faced with the knowledge that they were one of the last, forced to face off against another that was power hungry and determined to destroy the land nations. She was either going to be their salvation or their destruction. How the heck did someone leave another with that task and responsibility?

Making their way to Iceland, they found their father staring at the young water nation, her rainbow-colored eyes filled with tears. It had taken nearly a week to travel from Norway, and they knew that Oceanonis had already passed on, all his power flowing into her. Her expression was filled with confusion, pain, and terror, and the moment she saw Sweden, she rushed over and jumped into his arms. The others showed no surprise; despite his violent nature, he was still the gentlest with her, and his blue eyes were a storm of fury. If anything tried to hurt or take her from him... well none of the brothers envied the foolish idiots. Scandinavia knew... his sons hadn't needed to tell him, connected as he was to Oceanonis. They had been the first of many; one of the land, and one of the water.

Winter came and went, and just as Autumn started its approach, the five of them were once again gathered before another ancient that wished to move on. Why were they all leaving Atlantis to fight this war on her own? She too was an ancient, but because of her predicament, she had to re-live her life all over again, barely aware of everything that had come before. Scandinavia stroked a fond hand over the water nation's dark hair, her colored stripes in the silky strands the only thing indicating what she truly was to them. She had yet to pry herself away from Sweden, the two an odd combination. Perhaps it was in their blood, the older nation wasn't sure.

Atlantis had been a legend among warriors, having waged war against most of the southern part of Europe and Northern portions of Africa. She never lost, and it was to that legacy that Sweden fought so hard; all the Vikings did. "I have a confession," he finally spoke, his voice filled with weary regret. The brothers didn't know if they wanted another one, not after the last one with Oceanonis. Everything Atlantis did, had them afraid, but they couldn't restrict her either. To do so would place them in greater peril. "There are two others of our blood; their locations unknown."

All of them felt the sudden spike of aggression, the brothers wisely stepping away from the young blonde. Handing Atlantis to Finland, Sweden demanded he take the two children out. Finland wisely didn't argue, knowing his brothers would fill him in. "I've had enough of prophecies, destinies, and confessions to last us several centuries... First Atlantis, now this!" Sweden snarled, cracking knuckles together for a fight.

Norway was the one to reach for his brother's wrist, a hint of anger just as potent as Sweden's in his violet orbs, but he shook his head. "Let it go, brother. Even if you did fight, what would it solve... let us find and protect them like we do her."

"Why are you just now telling us about them, and why do we not know where they are?" Denmark asked, struggling to remain the voice of reason.

"They are in the savage land, across the bridge of ice that we travel during the migration seasons. Some stayed, and most returned. Very few make that journey any longer, and for several thousand years I have searched and failed to find them. I believe that they are still, physically, very young, despite how old they are."

At least their father had looked for them, and it started to make sense why he hadn't said anything. Why give them hope of two brothers if they might not survive before they found them? The strong survived, and the weak died; that was the way of things, and yet Sweden wanted to make the journey. How did they find what their father had not? "You still sense them?" Sweden ask, the tension going out of his arms and legs. Norway stepped back, sensing that the danger had passed, and waited for his father's response.

"They're both alive. Whether or not that they're together, I do not know, but you will know them... they will have our complexion and eye colors, and perhaps temperament. I ask that you continue my search and protect them should they have need of it."

"As you wish," Sweden consented, taking his leave. The brothers already knew he'd seek out Finland and Atlantis, the powerful Viking intent on raising her himself.

"He is good for her," Scandinavia smirked, knowing Sweden would never treat her as anything less than a warrior. He never brought up her past, and he took her everywhere that he went, disregarding the notion that women did not fight or travel with the men folk. She wasn't of the land, and he didn't treat her as such, and therefore, their land laws did not fall upon her in the same manner. He would not seek a mate for her; as the last remaining water nation, she had that right to choose and he'd never allow anyone he didn't approve to force it upon her.

Finland had her sitting near the docks, baby Iceland in her arms. Her rainbow-colored gaze settled on Sweden as she approached, but they didn't light up with a smile. She rarely gave that to them, and when she did, he cherished it. "Is it true?" Finland asked, holding his breath.

"It is, but father isn't certain of where they are or how old they are? It's his assumption that the two were born while we were making our crossings over the Bering Strait, and that they moved or traveled with those that stayed behind."

"That could make them as old as 20,000 years," Finland gasped.

"Father still thinks that they're only children; it makes sense. With only a handful of people to make that crossing every year, the expansion rate is very low. Russia controls the Bering Strait, and if we wish to keep that territory and them a secret, we don't dare go near it or speak a word of this to anyone until we have them within our grasp."

"And if another nation finds them first?"

"We'll deal with it." Finland nodded, smiling as Iceland picked up and showed Atlantis a large sea shell. Taking it, she placed the open side to his ear, and they watched in awe as the baby's eyes went wide, taking it back and repeating what she had done.

Norway later appeared, watching the two nations play before reluctantly taking Iceland from her. Silently she stood, going to Sweden without a word of protest. They hated it... what would it take to see her smile again? After the passing of their father, the brothers kept to their word, protecting and raising Atlantis as their own, keeping her origins a secret from the rest of the world. As far as anyone knew, Atlantis was a city of myth, having vanished into the sea, no one certain of how it disappeared.

The shock came when she decided to leave, returning to the sea and leaving behind an arm band for each of the brothers, to include Iceland and the two they have yet to find. She had given them no warning, and Sweden nearly went insane with grief and rage.

* * *

"Do you think she'll make it?" Denmark asked them one morning, kicking at the sand. Sweden had gone a pillaging frenzy, conquering and destroying anything that stood in his path. It didn't matter how many lands he conquered, how many battles he fought, it wouldn't take away the emptiness that had been left behind with her absence.

"The world still moves on; as long as it remains, we know she's alive," Norway answered, a sad smile appearing on his twin's face. He didn't try to offer words of sympathy; her leaving had hurt them all, but they also knew that the water was her world and regardless if she had left now or later, it would have still been painful. "She'll return; you forget she's a warrior unlike any other, woman though she is. I was thinking; why not go on an adventure; explore the oceans to as far as we can go?"

"You're wanting to search for them?" Denmark gasped. "Is that possible... do you really think we'll find them?"

"We can only hope, but we speak none of this to Sweden until we're successful."

"Are you sure? What if he might want to help?"

"He's too angry... if we found them in the state of mind that he's in right now; they'll either run... Considering who they're related to; I doubt seriously that's going to happen. The alternative is that they'll wage a war against the four of us, and I'd rather not have to see them hurt."


	2. Prussia's Resolve

Prussia's Resolve

Chapter One

* * *

Leaving had been the hardest decision she had ever made, her attachment to Sweden stronger than any that she could recall. She sensed a hidden danger to them, and the longer she remained, the stronger that feeling became. Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Finland, and even the newest addition to their family Iceland, risked far too much if she stayed. The brothers had kept their promise, never telling anyone about her origins, why she had different colored hair and eyes… and yet there were nations that would easily know her for what she was the moment they crossed paths.

She didn't remember her brother's name, but she knew he had been important, his image engraved into her mind. The moment Oceanonis had passed on, she had felt it, the shift in power flowing into her, regardless if she had wanted it or not. With his power, she sensed the enemy that roamed the open waters, determined to find and acquire her. He was the second reason she had left, knowing that if he found her with them, he'd destroy the Nordic Countries in a single blow. She couldn't risk it.

No, she didn't have the memories to fight him, but she knew how to hide, staying close to the shores of coastal countries that had small and hidden caves. Atlantis sat on the sandy beaches of Spain, her thoughts drifting towards Sweden. He might have had no choice but to accept Oceanonis's decision, but Sweden would never forgive him for it either. Sweden resented the ancients that disappeared one-by-one, leaving her to fight a battle she had no memories of.

She'd cherish the memories she had of him, often rocking and holding her until she fell asleep, as if she were the most precious treasure he had ever acquired. Scandinavia might have acted like a father to her, but it was Sweden that had regarded her as the warrior that she couldn't remember being. So many feared Sweden's violent temper, but she embraced it. There wasn't a raid that he hadn't taken her on; his reasoning was that something or someone might take her if he left her alone.

Until one of his invasions of France, she hadn't seen a flaw in his reasoning, but with the sinking of his ships, he had ordered Finland to take and withdraw from the battle, her survival more important than his own. She had protested, but he had refused to listen. After that, Atlantis had decided to go her own way, refusing to endanger him a second time. Leaving had hurt him, but how could she allow him to continue risking his life for her, not when she wanted to protect him just as strongly?

Atlantis had no idea how or why she was with them, but they meant everything to her, and her leaving meant that her enemy would never touch them. She wasn't a land nation; she knew this, and there was always a sadness and anger in Sweden when he regarded her. In the beginning, she had thought it was because of her that he was angry, but he was far to gentle and kind. No… the anger of the Nordic Nations was directed towards the one trying to find and kill her.

Sweden had gone against his laws, teaching her the way of the sword, hand-to-hand combat… Fighting was strangely familiar to her, even if the sword and foot work with it was not. Her adeptness pleased Sweden, and he enjoyed their training sessions almost as much as he did his travels across the open seas. On the surface, she never lacked for attention or companionship, but beneath the water… she existed entirely alone. Due to the magic she had placed upon the armbands, she would forever know where they were, feel them should they have a need for her protection.

The shores of Spain caused her to tremble in fear and anxiety, but she lingered despite that. There was a closeness to the land-water nation that she didn't feel with the others. Southern Italy was the same, and she spent most of her time wandering the shores… wondering if the pieces of her past would return if she remained? Who was she? Other than her enemy, was she truly the last water nation, and why was she covered with burns and scars? Why was she so small, when she had once been fully grown and extremely powerful?

The longer she remained hidden, the more the surface dwellers forgot about her. Only the Vikings remembered, and they kept their secrets within their local legends and stories, never writing them down. Any that broke that sacred law were instantly executed, their belongings burned beyond recognition.

One day, as she neared the Bering Sea, she felt it, a stabbing pain that had her clutching at her throat. She couldn't breathe... terrified, she quickly rose to the surface and latched on to a floating iceberg, struggling to understand what was happening to her and why. Nothing was attacking her, and yet it felt like it, and what was happening was very real and deadly. Diving back into the water, she quickly moved closer and closer to the Russian territory, careful to stay beneath the ice, her eyes searching for the source of her fear... And then she saw him, a young, and pale haired nation falling through the ice, his eyes that of the water and not the land he had fallen from.

Gasping, she watched strands of hair turn blue and red, flecks of blue appearing in his eyes. She instantly knew him for what he was, and for the first time, she felt a measure of hope that she wasn't quite the last of her kind. Even if he was half land, half water... it didn't matter, she'd protect him with everything that she was and more. She might not have the memories, but she identified him as a hybrid, and if the enemy discovered him… she had to get him out of the water before that happened.

* * *

Prussia slammed a foot against the larger nation's chest, turning over and running for his life. It wasn't his fault that his people always wanted to attack the older boy, his poor country and harsh climates making it simple... until now. His lungs still hurt from where the boy had wrapped his strong fingers around his throat, and if he managed to get a hold of him again, there wasn't a guarantee he'd walk away alive or in one piece.

Russia had snapped, a rage so intense that Prussia had instantly dropped any idea of conquering the young nation. It was stupid anyway. The place was nothing but ice... the lakes, the rivers, even the mountains, and the temperatures rarely rose above to acceptable levels, even the warmest temperatures. In the winters... he didn't even want to think about it, his white cape flapping behind him as he dodged from one tree to another.

He was only four hundred years old, the older nation chasing him, twice that. However, when it came to the nation personifications, age was often a vulnerability, and if another nation didn't try to occupy them, they often destroyed the personification, enslaved the inhabitants, and absorbed the territory into their own. The Italian brothers were one of the luckier nations, divided and taken in by Austria and Spain. He knew there had been discussions on killing them or not, but it was decided that they'd live, so long as they served the empires that had control over their territories.

Prussia stumbled over a large snow drift, barely missing the swing of Russia's fist, a whimper of terror escaping his lips despite his best efforts to remain brave. _Who the hell was he kidding?_ he thought. If he didn't somehow shake Russia off his tail, he wasn't going to make it back to his country or awaiting military forces. One minute he had had Russia pinned to the ground, a sword pressed against his throat, and then the boy had somehow tossed him off as if he had weighed nothing, an insane glint flashing in his normally fearful ones.

Russia knew this land like the back of his hand, and Prussia had no way of out running him. Herding him to a snow-covered lake, he watched as he dashed across the surface, the audible sound of cracking reaching their ears. Prussia froze, glancing over his shoulder to see a smirking Russian at the edge, no longer following him. Glancing down at his feet, he tried to understand what his mistake had been, the taller boy kneeling and brushing aside the snow. "The snow... it's like a blanket on ice, da?"

Prussia still didn't understand, but when Russia touched the ice and brought it back up, he noted a hint of moisture on his gloved hand. He had been afraid before, but now he was terrified, looking for anything that he could use to hold on to... He considered begging, but Russia didn't look like he was in a forgiving mood, not after everything the other nations had put him through. "All I wanted was friends, da? Everyone always tries to hurt me... even the animals laugh and make fun of Russia."

Russia continued to push the snow aside, and with a heavy strike, he slammed his palm against the surface, watching as several cracks formed and began to spread. Prussia was too scared to run, too scared to stay, and he watched in growing horror as the cracks continued towards him, regardless of the snow that hid them. "I will take your country, make it one with mine... da?"

Over his dead body... but that wasn't such a hard task now, and with a cry, the cracks finally reached his feet and he fell through, the hole quickly closing above him. He slammed his fists against the surface, trying to break free, but it was hopeless, the impact not as powerful as if he had been on top.

Russia understood the snow, the ice, the weather. It had become his personal playground, and anyone that wanted to come and try to take what was his... well... they'd soon find out just as Prussia did, his red eyes glaring back at him from beneath his icy tomb. It didn't matter if he'd live or not, only that he'd take his country while he remained imprisoned. He didn't want to claim his people... he'd simply destroy them, and this annoying nation along with them. Who'd miss him? He was still so young, that he had yet to make a real name for himself, and the moment Russia conquered him, his name wouldn't even find itself in the book of legends or myths like Atlantis and Scandinavia.

* * *

Prussia watched with growing dismay as Russia turned and walked away, the older boy no longer afraid of the powerful boy or his army. Without their personification to lead them, they were vulnerable to attack, and he saw no way out of this prison. Terrified and alone, he felt his limbs begin to shut down, the pain so overwhelming that he cried, uncaring if anyone might think of him as weak. It was the soft touch that alerted him to something beneath the water, and he tried to turn his head, but found it also frozen in place.

Humans feared the water, even when they used their boats to go from one land mass to another. Once they fell in, they often didn't come back up. Closing his eyes, he waited for the attack of some unknown monster, to feel teeth ripping into his pale flesh... and yet, something soft moved to his neck, and then to his cheeks. Eyes flashing open, he could only stare into what he thought of as the most amazing eye color he had ever encountered, a kaleidoscope of colors that mirrored a perfect rainbow. Black hair floated around her like a halo, similar colored stripes scattered throughout her long strands.

She was so achingly beautiful that he felt that he had no right to look at her, but she was the only other living creature beneath the ice with him, her expression filled with sadness. What was she? Why was she beneath the icy rivers and lakes of Russia? And how was he still conscious? Shouldn't he have lost his ability to breathe? And yet he felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as if he were on the surface? Was he a demon? He had no idea, but he certainly didn't care... The fear of dying had him over riding those questions, and he regarded her with a mixture of hope and curiosity.

Studying her closer, he noted that her long hair covered most of her front, and for that he was grateful. Apparently, she didn't believe in clothes, and he tried to avoid the parts that would probably damn him forever, and that's when he saw it, the tail that slowly weaved back and forth behind her. He had either passed on after all, or all the stories he had heard of the water nations were true.

Mermaids were a thing of fairy tales, something he had only heard from his mother when he was child. However, just as he started to take his first steps, she had vanished, leaving him alone in a violent world that threatened to consume him at any given moment. He had learned to fight at an early age; what choices did he have? He blinked, his body almost completely useless at this point, and he found he was still crying, and wanted to wipe the offending liquid aside.

Very gently, she brushed them aside, moving closer until their noses nearly touched. Eyes wide, he had no idea how to ask what she was doing when she covered his lips with her own. Prussia wanted to push her back, to demand that she stop, but then he calmed, sensing a warm sensation flowing into him. This wasn't exactly what he thought of as a kiss, but something far more precious... she was giving him power, and with it, the ability to think and move without the former pain that had incapacitated him so thoroughly.

As she continued to share her life energy, they began to move, her tail pushing them further and further away from the heart of Russia and towards the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean. Like himself, she appeared as a child, but when he stared into her odd colored eyes, he knew that she was perhaps older than any nation he had ever encountered. Rising to the surface, he welcomed the warm feel of the sun's rays on his white skin, mourning the loss of her power as she pulled back and gave him the space that he thought he had wanted. "Are you okay?" She quietly asked, her voice a soft compulsion to answer.

"Exhausted, but I can fix that with a good night's sleep." Nodding, she glanced towards the shore, trying to decide if she should take him the rest of the way, or if he'd manage on his own. In the end, she chose to ensure his safety and turned, waiting for him to wrap his arms around her neck. Prussia only hesitated for a moment, realizing that if he tried to make it back to shore on his own, he'd not make it for several more hours. He couldn't risk it, not with Russia forming his military to strike against his own.

Thinking for a moment, she tried to figure out how best to handle him. If she dropped him off, he risked attacks from another nation, and he needed time to recover from his recent fight with Russia. He also needed a strong presence backing him and she couldn't think of anyone better than Sweden. Everyone feared him, to include the nation that had nearly killed Prussia. She touched the blue-red strands in his hair, a flicker of awareness flashing in her eyes. She knew him... and just as quickly, she pushed the painful memories to the back of her mind.

As hard as he had tried, Sweden had never succeeded at ridding her of the nightmares, of the images she had of her brother or the cities that she had once loved and cherished. Turning, she waited for him to wrap his arms around her neck before setting off. Instead of taking him back to the northern part of Prussia or Poland, she made her way towards the heart of Scandinavia territory. He wanted to say something, but just as he started to, he saw the huge Viking war vessels and started to shake. Was she crazy? These guys were notorious for attacking the coast lines of other nations, taking what they wanted, and killing anyone that was insane enough to resist.

And yet, he trusted her. Why would she have gone through the trouble of saving him to only hand him over to the Vikings knowing they'd kill him? Several shouts rang from ship to ship, horns sounding, and he tightened his arms around her neck, red eyes wild with fear. What if he was wrong? He might have only escaped Russia's death sentence to land in another one.

The vessels made a large, circular formation around them, some of the occupants pointing towards them. A blond headed Viking peered down, his blue eyes going wide, and a hint of a smile forming at the edges of his mouth. Shouting an order, a rope was tossed down, along with a rope that she quickly wrapped around him before they pulled him up. Dipping beneath the water, she gave herself enough distance to jump from the water, change her tail to legs, and land on the deck.

The water had yet to dry from her long hair when she felt a set of strong arms embrace her… she didn't have to look up to know that it was him, his scent and strength all too familiar. Sweden didn't want to pull away, afraid she'd vanish if he let her go, but he had little choice as he carefully inspected her, ensuring that she was unharmed before glancing at the boy they had pulled out of the water.

His hair, still wet from the water, still had traces of blue and red coloring, and his eyes were a combination of the same. "He's a hybrid." It was more of a statement than a question. Prussia had no way of knowing what they were saying, unfamiliar with the Scandinavian languages, but he knew they were discussing him.

A strong hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned, seeing a thinner version of the blond, his eyes a deep violet instead of blue. "I will provide you with warmer clothing," he offered. "In payment, I will ask how and why you are with her."

"You're not going to kill me?" he asked, still unsure of their intentions or why she had brought him here.

"Did you want us to?" the man asked, slightly laughing at the young nation's bafflement and fear. "I believe you are safe; at least until she decides to leave again."

"Is she his daughter?"

"She is very important to us, yes, but she is not related."

* * *

Sweden reluctantly pulled away. If he wasn't mistaken, she had grown, her physical appearance that of a thirteen or fourteen-year-old child. There were still scars marring her, otherwise pale, skin. "You're not staying," he accused.

She glanced away, but he grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Any other man… if he had been anyone else, she knew they'd have feared touching her. Sweden wasn't like most… and he wasn't afraid of her or the reputation she had had before coming to their shores. "I never blamed you for France," he tried to explain.

Gentle fingers wrapped around his wrist, squeezing ever so slightly. She wanted nothing more than to stay, but she had made a promise, one that she intended on keeping. To protect the Nordic brothers, she had no choice but to stay away. She knew his temper, saw it swirling in the depths of his blue eyes… he didn't want her protection, he found it offensive, but she was just as stubborn as he was, and they both knew this.

"Who is he?"

"I didn't ask."

Sweden growled, and for a moment he saw a hint of a smile. How often had he wanted to see it… this was not one of those moments he would have picked. As quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, the tears sliding down her cheeks as she vanished beneath the waves. If his men weren't watching, he'd have cried himself… instead, he went after Finland and the pale-haired boy, to get the answers that she had refused to provide.

* * *

Making his way to the hull, Prussia noted the warriors sitting at tables, eating meat, drinking ale, and staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and hostility. Or at least that's how he perceived it. "They won't attack you," Finland promised, as if he knew his thoughts.

"Why?"

"She saved your life; we will respect her wish… that is unless Sweden feels you're a threat to her. You'll find that his brothers are equally protective of her."

Prussia wanted to ask more questions, but he was tired, confused, and time wasn't on his side. As much as he needed to take a long nap, if he didn't get back to his country, he might as well have asked her to leave him in the ice. "I need to get home," he told the man.

"I figured as much." Handing him a mug of strong ale, Prussia drank it, ignoring the horrible smell. "I am Finland, and the blond was my younger brother Sweden." Prussia rarely spent time with other nations, especially legendary ones like the Nordic Brothers. He'd never would have imagined being in the presence of the famous Viking Warlord, the man still on the decks above them. No sane man or nation would welcome a fight with Sweden, not unless you were Britain or France. They were the only two nations he could think of that had managed to bring Sweden to a halt, protecting their lands from a Viking conquest.

"What do I owe for your help?" Prussia wasn't an idiot; one didn't give favors without wanting something in return.

"Keep word of her a secret; even from your closest allies."

"I don't have allies, only enemies." Finland stopped pouring a bowl of stew for him, a look of pity flickering across his features before he turned back to the pot and finished pouring a sizable amount of food.

"I was under the impression that you were once allies with France and Holy Rome."

"They're more like enemies that I keep as close as possible. My mother... she died when I was young, leaving me little choice but to lead my country or die as the British and Roman Empire expand and take more and more. I'm barely holding them back... and then there's Poland and Russia, both of which I am not on friendly terms with."

"And your father?"

"My mother never spoke of him, and I never asked."

Finland sighed, handing the bowl to the young nation and sat, watching Prussia eat it with alarming speed. He knew the boy was hungry, but he refrained from asking for more, afraid they'd demand more for everything they gave. Without hesitation, Finland refilled the bowl three more times before Prussia stopped staring at it with longing and desperation. "Essentially, all that you've known is the sword and battle."

"That's why we exist; isn't it?" Prussia demanded, refusing to apologize for his actions or decisions.

"No," a male voice interrupted, Prussia jumping up in fear. The blond was alone, a hint of sadness and anger in his blue eyes. "A nation's responsibility is to his people, to ensure their survival. At times, that means war, and others simply to find food and shelter from the harsh winters that plague our lands. Without us, the people would suffer; that might mean extinction or integration into another territory. The latter is not always a better option."

Prussia stood, pacing back and forth, hand on the hilt of his sword. He had to get back, but what if they wouldn't let him? "You say our duty is to protect?"

"It is," Finland confirmed, waiting for Prussia to make the next move. They had no problems in offering their assistance to the young nation, but he had to ask for it; that had been the stipulation given to them.

"Russia... I must stop him. Please, I need to go home."

"Why were you with her?" Sweden demanded. He had hoped Atlantis would tell him and searching for her was pointless. She was of the water and she'd only appear if there was a need.

"She saved my life and brought me to you." Sweden needed no other explanation, and with a quick nod of his head, he made his way back to the deck, barking out orders and directions. "I'm not use to asking for help," he finally admitted to the friendlier nation.

"We're not asking you to. Our only purpose is to take you to Prussia, and if you want us to remain, we shall. If you do not, we will go."

"How do you know me?"

"We've known about you for several years; that and leaving you in the water wasn't an option for her."

Prussia breathed a sigh of relief, making his way towards the deck himself. He had never been on a boat before, and he found that he rather liked it, watching as the crew moved with ease and familiarity. The air was clean, cold... He almost wanted to stay, but his people needed him, the fear of Russia destroying them making it difficult to enjoy his first sea adventure. Several hours later, they were docking on his home shores, and with a desperate leap, he was already on the sandy beaches racing towards his borders. "Do we go after him?" Finland asked.

"No... it is best that he finds his own way. In order to rely on others, one must also rely on himself, and he is hesitant to make friends or alliances." Prussia didn't have to look back to know they were leaving, and for the first time, he almost wanted to ask that they stay. Shaking his head, he decided he had to do this on his own. If someone helped him now, he'd never make it, and he had something to prove, not just to himself, but to the rest of the other nations that were looking at him with greedy, and hungry eyes.

* * *

For two days and two nights he raced across his country, barely stopping long enough to take a few minutes of rest at any point. Time was not on his side, and he arrived at the edge of Poland and Prussia, to see that the two armies had combined, hoping for an opportunity to take down his country. To say neither country was expecting to see him was an understatement, Poland glancing over to Russia. Just to see the shocked expression on the nation's face made everything he had endured worth the lack of sleep and food.

"You are quite resourceful, da?" Russia taunted, hoping Prussia would brag of his newly found freedom. Winning against Prussia's forces might have proven easy if their nation had remained in his icy prison, but he was a crafty and intelligent opponent. Even with the odds stacked against him, he always found a way to survive, and everyone involved might suffer heavier losses than what they wanted or could afford.

"If I promise to leave you alone; is that enough to withdraw your forces."

Russia tilted his head, as if considering the nation's offer. It wasn't like Prussia not to shout out a direct challenge, and he was curious as to why he didn't want to fight. "You attacked Russia first, no?"

"I did and I was wrong." That caught everyone off guard, to include his own people. However, Sweden was right. He had an obligation to his own people, and that meant trying to spare them a war they might not win if Russia and Poland decided to attack in unison. "Do not mistake my hesitation for weakness; I have simply decided that war is not always the answer and I will no longer consider it as my first option."

Russia saw a hint of steady resolve in the Prussian's gaze that hadn't been there when they had last fought. Perhaps it was his close call in the ice, and he had no idea how he managed to get free, and perhaps keeping him alive would be worth the extra few minutes before he killed him personally. Not knowing what Prussia had done or how, Russia decided it was best not to challenge the younger nation.

Having had too many close calls with him in the past, he decided it was not worth the risk to his people. He'd have his day, and they both knew it as Russia ordered the withdrawal of his troops. If anyone thought they might bully or try to gain the upper hand on Russia at this point, they were mistaken, and he wasn't about to make it a second time.

* * *

Hours after they had dropped Prussia off, Finland joined Sweden on the deck, not surprised to see him still looking out to sea. "It's a matter of time before she regains her original size; you're aware that she's not a child?"

"I'm aware," Sweden answered, saying nothing more. No one idolized her more than his younger brother, and Finland didn't want him to hope for a challenge if all Atlantis regained was her size and not the memories that went with it. Finland didn't see that as a bad thing, however. Atlantis came from a time and place that was very different than theirs, never having a choice on who to love, or who to choose for a husband. The only choice she had was to fight, to defeat any challenger that wanted her power and wealth for their own. If she lost, they had the right to claim her as their war prize, and everything that belonged to her.

He couldn't say that land nations weren't the same… on the contrary, too often women were brutalized and taken advantage of, but they weren't human, and neither was she. The human laws didn't apply to them, and he couldn't think of anyone that could cherish and protect her better than the Nordic brothers; not just one, but all five. Iceland was still too young, but he knew that Denmark and Norway felt as strong of a connection to her as Sweden did. If nothing more, Denmark would see her as a woman a lot sooner than Sweden would, and as for Norway… Finland already had a feeling that Atlantis wouldn't win a fight with him, not unless she denied him the use of his magic, something she had never done in the past.


	3. Fated Tragedy

Fated Tragedy

Chapter Two

* * *

Norway and Denmark hovered over their crudely drawn maps, trying to figure out what they were missing? They had covered almost every part of the Bering Sea, the land bridge, and the territories connected to and from Siberia, but they found no sign of the two brothers their father had spoken of. Occasionally, they explored small sections near the ocean, but they needed supplies and resources that they simply didn't have. To make matters more complicated, the longer they lingered on the other side of the land bridge, the more hostile some of the inhabitants became.

"Should we try going around? I mean there's a possibility we can explore from the other side."

"We have no idea what we're dealing with," Denmark scowled, tossing down his pencil. "We've been at this for months, and we're no closer to finding a landing point without opposition, and if there aren't hostiles, there's savage creatures of the like we've never seen before."

"You're not afraid of a few little animals..." Norway taunted, laughing at his twin's frustration.

"Like hell I am; I'm just saying we need Sweden and Finland if we're going to continue this."

Tapping his chin, he considered the possibility of calling in the other two, but they had made a promise not to say anything to Sweden unless they had proof that their missing brothers were alive. "Let's just map out the area; if Sweden gets his hopes up again, I'm not wanting to return home with him if we're wrong."

Denmark had to agree; Sweden had a temper, and without Atlantis around to calm him, they were better off doing this alone. "Damn if we hadn't given up most of our lands to Russia," Denmark fumed. The migration routes had once been easy to access, the Scandinavian Nations going where the trails led them; however, with Russia and Siberia cutting them off from the Bering Strait, they had taken the long way around, through the Arctic Ocean, all the way around Russia, to the Bering Sea, and now they were facing just a small portion of what appeared to be an even bigger chunk of land. "Do we even have a name for this place?"

"Not that I have heard, and the storms and the cold winters make it next to impossible to travel. As a matter of fact, if we don't head back within the week, we might as well make camp on those shores and hope we can endure a stand off with those hostiles."

"So we simply turn back and waist an entire year of research?"

"I'm not saying that at all," Norway growled, clearly at his wit's end. He thought that the two of them would have found something already, but they couldn't stay gone from their territories forever... not if they wanted to prevent outside invasions.

"I have a better idea... why don't one of us stay behind, while the other goes back. It might give us more time to map out the area, and hopefully give us a clue as to where our brothers are?"

"And how are we supposed to explain all of this to our younger brother? Oh hey... we were on an exploration, and one of us decided to stay behind for a couple of years."

"We could take turns..."

"No... absolutely not! Second option, we come back when the ice melts, and pick up where we left off... together! Only next time we'll bring more warriors."

Denmark didn't want to go back empty handed; he hated that idea worse than losing a skirmish. However, Norway did have a valid point, and with great reluctance, they started to head back. An entire year they had spent on the open sea, hoping to find something, a hint that they weren't searching in blind faith... "We're not giving up, brother," Norway vowed, but Denmark wasn't convinced. Things happened, and there was a good possibility that they might not have the chance to reform another voyage like this. Sighing, he left his brother to muse his thoughts, sensing that he'd come down when he was hungry enough, but when the sun set and the moon rose, Denmark had yet to move.

Norway couldn't recall the last time his twin had been so stuck on something... especially when it came to two nations neither of them had ever seen nor held. Even they fought at times, but for the most part, they had an extremely strong connection to each other. A strong wind began to blow from the west, forcing them back, their way blocked with ice that the war ships could not break or navigate through. "The winter storms have come early this year..." Denmark noted, stirring from his thoughts.

"We might not have a choice about landing on that shore," Norway sighed. They had a few options, wait out the winter in the Arctic Ocean, but risk losing their men to frost bite and more. Land in Siberia and make the journey across the coldest regions on Earth, and still lose all their men... Turn around and travel further south along the shore line in hope of finding a way around and through the land mass. Or, force the ships ashore and travel across the land and make new ones on the other side. They had the ability to hunt and make their own clothing... that wasn't the main issue. The main problem was that they had no friendly relations to the people of the unknown land, and not knowing was often very dangerous for any nation.

The twins considered option three or four, but a fifth option was offered to them without their consent, a violent storm forming in and around them. Their men held on for dear life, withdrawing the sails... going where the winds and the currents took them. A large wave crashed over the side, and as a man started to scream, clutching at the rail, Denmark snatched his wrist, threw him towards his twin, but not before a line snapped and slammed into his side, throwing him over the side and into the cold waves. Spluttering for breath, he struggled back to the surface, his fur clothing making it hard to stay afloat. He couldn't see the ship, his blond hair plastered to his skin, blue eyes wild with fear. No matter which way he turned, he saw nothing to hold on to, or a piece of rock to swim towards... was he to die in this vast ocean, alone... what of his people... damn it... A wave rose above him, curled, and as he watched it descend, he made an apology to his brothers and his father for his failures. He wasn't going to make it home...

* * *

Norway had no idea where to look, the sun high above them, the storm long gone, their maps destroyed, and a couple of their ships gone. Normally he'd use his link to find his twin, but the distance was either too great, or... Roaring in agony, Norway sank to his knees, and slammed his fists against the deck, wanting to hear his stupid brother's annoying laugh, to see his spiky hair... those blue eyes filled with mischief, but all he saw was a bright, blue sea and nothing more. None of the warriors approached... Denmark and Norway were always seen together, fighting one skirmish after the next, back-to-back, side-by-side, and he was gone... stolen from them and Norway wept for the first time in his long life. They had no idea where they were, and even if they did get close to land, they wouldn't know if they were remotely close to where Denmark had fallen into the water.

"My lord?"

"Take us home," he whispered, daring them to challenge his decision. Norway wanted to stay, to spend the rest of his life searching... but who was he fooling... against the massive waves that had taken out so many of their ships, there wasn't a chance in hell his brother had survived, not without a miracle.

A couple of shouts echoed around him, fingers pointing, and Norway looked up... No amount of time would pass without him recognizing her on sight, black hair floating around her, rainbow colored eyes staring back at him. "Atlantis..." he choked, tears still falling down his tanned cheeks. She didn't move, staring at him in wide-eyed astonishment. This was Norway... a proud warrior that rarely showed this side of himself... he was always the more reasonable of the twins, keeping Denmark out of trouble. And yet, as her gaze scanned the remaining ships, she didn't see him... Ducking beneath the water, she descended several feet before rapidly rushing to the surface, and with a giant leap, she was out of the water and onto Norway's ship, her legs changing in mid-air. Taking off his fur coat, he quickly draped it around her shivering form, knowing that the cold winds affected her far more than the water.

"Denmark... why is he not with you?" she demanded. Norway wasn't quite certain, but he thought she might have grown a little. Tucking a strand of hair behind her small ears, he gathered her close and sobbed, uncaring of how it looked to his men. She had sensed the danger to Norway; the arm bands she had given them linked to her through an ancient magic. Why hadn't she felt Denmark? Taking his wrist, she tapped his arm band... "Does he not wear one similar to this?"

Norway tried to think... Sweden had told them to never take them off, but Denmark hated to rely on magic to save him. "Go check his quarters," he shouted, raising his arm for the warriors to see. "See if there's an armband like this one!"

"My lord!" they shouted, scurrying away. Within minutes, they returned, placing the item in Norway's shaking hand... "That stupid... stupid... idiot!"

Atlantis felt raw with pain... why would he not wear it? If he had, she would have sensed the immediate danger and gone to him before Norway. She had seen some of the ships beneath the ocean, and thankfully none of them had belonged to her beloved friends... "I will guide you home," she whispered, struggling not to cry herself.

"I want to bury him..." Norway whimpered...

"Then we shall search..." Nodding, he ordered his men to follow her to the shore, and as they came up along side it, he jumped down.

"Take them home; I will stay until I have given him a warrior's departure."

Nodding, he watched the ships turn away, leaving him behind. There was nothing he could do at the moment except build a small fire, his violet colored eyes staring out towards the open sea. How had it come to this, and what was he going to say to Sweden and Finland? Perhaps it was best that he didn't go home after all? Without his brother... it just wasn't the same, his head dropping to his knees as he broke down once more and cried.


	4. Prussia's Promise

Prussia's Promise

Chapter Three

* * *

Sweden helped pull another body from the rubble, women and children running around in fear as they tried to find their loved ones. The massive flood had come from no where, sweeping across Denmark and killing almost three quarters of his population. It was a miracle any had survived at all, and he wouldn't even get started on the naval fleet sitting at the bottom of the ocean. To make matters worse, an unusual winter storm had hit Norway, but Sweden and Finland were unaffected. Sweden knew the signs of a severely injured or dead nation, but he had no way of knowing where Denmark and Norway were. Instead, he had to wait, taking full control of their territories, restoring order, and helping to rebuild and provide food, clothing, and shelter.

None of his warriors complained, nor did they take advantage of the vulnerable women or their children. Instead, they treated them as if they were their own, offering their complete protection until the fate of Denmark and Norway was decided. "Brother..." Standing up, a young boy in his arms, he handed him off to one of his warriors and followed after Finland, the normally quiet nation heading straight for the docks.

He had no idea what to expect, but the badly damaged ships approaching, holes in their hulls, a handful of men on each one... Sweden felt his heart go cold with fear; despite their differences, he had no true desire to see any of his brothers dead. In the early spring, they had taken off, due to return just before winter... Fifty vessels, and only a handful had returned, neither of his brothers in site. On the lead ship, he saw her, black hair whipping about her violently, her sad eyes meeting his terrified blue ones. When she glanced away... he knew, and it took all his inner strength as a leader and a warrior to not tuck tail and run.

Without a dock, the broken ships were forced to beach themselves upon the sand, and with great care, they helped her down, Sweden meeting her most of the way. In her hands, she held something, and it wasn't until he paused before her that she opened his palm and placed an unworn arm band into it. These were the magical items she had gifted to them, a way for her to find and help them should they ever have a need. He already knew which twin hadn't worn it, and he turned to the devastation behind him. "Are they..."

"Norway wouldn't come back," she quietly spoke, her entire body trembling. "I'm sorry," she started to cry, Sweden staring at her in horrified shock. He hadn't seen her break down like this since she had first come to them, broken and scarred. "If I had stayed... this is my fault..."

Unable to stop himself, he gathered her close, his strong arms providing only comfort and love. Sweden couldn't talk, his entire world off kilter. His stupid brothers... Why hadn't Denmark worn the arm band? And why hadn't Norway returned? This was too much... he had the ability to integrate both countries into one, but... not like this... The fur coat was far too big for her smaller body, and he knew it belonged to Norway. "I want every available ship ready to sail within the hour," he commanded, Finland nodding his head and taking off.

Sweden had no idea how he was going to conduct a massive search for his brothers, leaving Denmark's and Norway's territories vulnerable to attack. Just as he was leaving instructions for the older warriors, he saw a familiar paled-haired nation make his way through the mud and dead bodies. "I owe you a debt... The awesome Prussia is at your service." Was it his imagination, or had Prussia shot up a few inches in the past year, red eyes staring at him with less fear and more certainty?

"Defending our borders will not stretch your military to thin?"

"I have my borders completely covered... Since our departure from one another, I have made a new rule. Anyone that is over the age of sixteen is required to fight... those that refuse have two options; exile or death."

Sweden didn't disagree with Prussia's logic; a nation that faced constant war from all fronts, had little choice but to force it's people into the military. Those that chose more passive methods often found themselves under the rule of another. Some of them lived, and most did not. "How did you find out?"

Prussia snorted, his red eyes scanning the destruction around him. "The other nations are considering war, knowing that they might have you to deal with. This is a situation a lot of them would love to take advantage of, regardless if he lives or not. What effects Denmark, also reflects upon Norway."

The Prussian had done his homework, and Sweden wasn't certain if he should fear or respect the nation's ability to gather intelligence. It was his way of staying alive and in power; no longer making rash and impulsive decisions like he had done with Russia several months ago.

"Which nations do I need to worry about?"

"France, Britain, and possibly Russia and Austria. Thankfully, I'm in the way and I've expanded since the last we met."

"I will stay with him," Finland offered. Sweden started to protest, but he saw the resolved determination in his older brother, something he rarely witnessed. Unlike his other brothers, he wasn't a fighter, not unless there was a reason to raise his sword. If he didn't help Prussia defend their borders, Sweden, Finland, and possibly Iceland were next. He had a terrible decision to make; to stay or go. If he stayed, he risked the death of two nations, not just one, but if he left, he risked all of them. Prussia's gaze fell upon the female nation at Sweden's side, amazed that she looked so normal without her tail. Only her hair and eyes gave her a way, and it was because of her that he had managed to stop Russia from taking his lands and killing him.

Reaching for the necklace around her throat, she pulled slightly away from Sweden and placed it around Prussia's neck, a soft glow pulsing around it. He waited for Sweden or Finland to protest, but they seemed to accept her decision, and with a gentle pressure on her back, he turned and guided her towards the awaiting fleet. "I'm trusting them to you," Sweden finally conceded, hating the fact that he was handing the lives of five nations into the hands of one that he barely knew. Perhaps Prussia was everything that his father was and more, and he only hoped he'd never place himself before those that relied on him. He'd never forgive Oceanonis for what he had done to Atlantis.

Watching them go, Finland turned and followed Prussia to the front lines of Denmark's remaining military. He wasn't going to lie, it looked pretty bad. "Do you think he somehow survived?"

"Have you seen a body?"

"No, but..."

"Then we defend his borders and await Sweden's next command." Clapping the older nation on the shoulder, Prussia smiled and started barking orders that had the remaining warriors and the children too young to travel, scrambling in every direction. Perhaps having a new way of thinking wasn't a bad thing. The Viking way of war was that of the water; where as Prussia knew land warfare, using everything in their path as a barrier or a weapon of some sort. Next, he began training regimes that forced the warriors to train night and day, resting in rotating shifts as he taught them various ways of combat, both with swords, spears, and even daggers. Finland started to see the danger Prussia represented, and hoped to never have the kid on their bad side.

When they weren't in training, efforts went to rebuilding the broken homes and shipping ports, establishing a flimsy market, and restoring law and order. Prussia made it quite clear... anyone stupid enough to cause chaos and fear in an already dangerous situation, were made a public example of. "Thank you," Finland finally said one morning, handing the young nation a mug of strong ale. It was here that Prussia had formed a liking for the stuff, integrating it into his own culture. "Where did you learn to fight and train the way you do?"

"One learns a lot when you face off against an enemy. Each victory is only a victory if I take away something that I can use in battle later; and my favorite is guerrilla warfare. I never understood why the British bastards like to line up and march to their deaths. Savage monsters... they're way of fighting is disgusting... putting women and children in barns, burning them alive, killing off of their livestock and crops. I hear they're taking to the open seas themselves."

Worried they might have a naval war on their hands, Finland made slight changes to their battle plans. Taking the broken ships that had returned, he ordered their repairs, and new ones built, hoping they were over reacting. Prussia didn't think so, and he stayed at his post, staring into the darkness, always ready for the enemy to strike. They rarely disappointed him.

* * *

As they traveled the open seas, a fleet of a thousand ships at his back, he felt comfort in the knowledge that she stood at his side. It was impossible not to pass Britain, their vessels taking the Baltic Sea route, into the North Sea, and finally into the North Atlantic. "Is this the same route they took?"

"That way is not possible... The storms they encountered are now sweeping across the northern part of the world and are pushing southward, blocking their way with ice. The route we must take; the land is uncharted and unknown to the other land nations. I cannot guarantee the survival of all your ships," she spoke truthfully, sensing more storms.

"Are we able to navigate around them?"

"For the most part, but a fleet this size... that is not always possible."

"Do you think he'll attack," he asked her, torn between continuing the search and rescue for his brothers, versus destroying Britain with everything he had.

"Yes, but they will not count on Prussia's interference, and his military is well trained in both tactical and hand-to-hand combat."

"You've changed," Sweden commented, her gaze flickering towards him before reverting back to the ocean.

"Memories are impossible to keep away forever," she agreed. Instead of taking them to the northern part of the Arctic Ocean, she went further south, their fleet entering the South Atlantic, a large land mass appearing in the horizon. "I've never seen that land."

"Not many have, the storms that hit the Atlantic are frequent, and very dangerous. However, if you are to reach Norway, we must travel this way."

"How are we to find them if there's no ocean?"

"I believe you've forgotten that my power does not center solely on any particular body of water... they are all connected, the rivers, the lakes, the oceans... Have your men land, and I will guide them safely to the other side."

* * *

"You are a fool, mon ami," France warned, watching his long time rival prepare his final battle plans. "Do you think them completely defenseless?"

"You saw them pass as well as myself; of course they're defenseless! My guess is that the only thing guarding their home front are a bunch of weak children and women; all of which are forbidden to fight in their culture."

France had his doubts; Sweden wasn't an adversary to underestimate, and only something extraordinary would cause him to make such a foolish mistake as to leave behind only a handful of women and children to defend their territories. If he didn't have Prussia to worry over, he might consider a temporary alliance for this conflict, but if Britain miscalculated... he didn't want to deal with Sweden's idea of retribution.

* * *

"Are you insane?" Finland gasped, watching as Prussia tossed wooden swords and spears into the hands of women and children.

"The British Empire will take full advantage of their being left behind. I'm not saying they forgo all their cultural beliefs, but in order to protect them, they must know how to fight. Do you expect the babies to do it?"

"No, but..."

"He knows the weakness of any man, especially ours. Those women, he will laugh as they roast, their screams pleading for someone to rescue them from a burning building, their babies coughing and dying at their feet. Is that what you want for them?"

Finland didn't like it, but Prussia was right, and he reluctantly allowed him to continue. Unlike the Scandinavian Countries, he had no concern for gender, placing the same training regime on the women and children as he did the men. The enemy would not care, and therefore he pushed them harder than he dared. The younger girls he allowed to tend to the babies like Iceland, the older ones becoming the first Shield Maidens, their only purpose to protect and defend. They would not allow the outsiders to take their home, their babies, while there was still a possibility that Denmark or Norway were alive. If they died, he would as well, and it was with this knowledge, that they poured all their desperation into training.

* * *

The tears... the rain... it all blended together. Norway couldn't feel his legs and arms any longer, shivering violently from the drop in temperatures as yet another storm blanketed the coast. If he had been in his right mind, he might have noted that the storms were more frequent than usual, something Atlantis should have sensed. Perhaps she had... it wasn't her responsibility to re-direct every storm that cropped up... Every sailor knew the risk when they traveled the open seas... that didn't make his pain any less.

The waves continued to rise, threatening to over take his flimsy excuse of a shelter. What did it matter? If he sat still, the waves would take him to his brother. Why couldn't he feel his twin? He should have felt him die; right? Fading in and out of consciousness, the cold making it hard to focus, he hadn't heard anyone approach, nor did he truly see him as pale hands touched his face, tugging at his wrists.

Norway tried to rationalize what was happening to him... something was trying to help him, pull him away... Jerking his hands back, he curled in on himself. He couldn't go... what if... no! He wanted the ocean to take him to Denmark. Again the hands reached for him... why were they so small? Vision fading, the last thing he recalled seeing before everything went black were violet colored eyes... That should have meant something, but his mind... overwhelmed with grief... he couldn't remember why. Any chances that Atlantis might have had of recovering his brother's body, seemed hopeless now, his heart breaking in agony. He had finally realized how badly Oceanonis had hurt Atlantis, and he wanted to curse him for ever contemplating dying and leaving her as the last ancient, unable to die.

* * *

The boy growled, arguing with the white bear. Granted, they normally avoided other humans, but this one was like himself, and different from the locals that seemed intent on hunting and killing him. If he remained in the cave, the ocean would take him, and instinct pushed him to ignore what the human wanted. He wasn't going to let this particular human die, and with inhuman strength, he dragged the man away from the cave, and snarled, demanding the bear stop being stubborn and take him. Roaring one last protest, the bear finally relented and helped the boy place the human onto his back, waiting for the boy to climb up behind him, before taking off into the forest.


	5. Viking Child

Viking Child

Chapter Four

* * *

He cupped his hands to his mouth, answering to the eagle above, its wings spread wide, circling over something and reappearing to show him the way. Holding his bunny friend, he inched his way closer and closer to the fearful ocean, knowing it had the power to take him away like it had so many of his animal friends. Not even the other humans went near the ocean, not when the winds turned cold like this. Hiding behind a massive, old, oak tree, he glanced at the large waves, the lightning crashing against some of the boulders poking out of the water, his tiny body trembling in terror. He hated thunderstorms, and wanted to go back, but his eagle friend had come to him. Remembering where he had seen the bird hovering, his eyes fell on a large object further down the shore, half clinging to the rocks, the waves crushing and pulling him at the same time. Somehow he was holding on, his clothes in tatters, blond hair matted with blood...

Shoving his fear aside, he took a terrible risk in exposing himself to the lightning, trees falling and crashing around him as it struck without remorse or prejudice. Ducking his head low to his chest, the small boy rushed to his side, reaching and tugging with all his might to pull him away from the jagged rocks. Another wave rose and fell on top of them, and it took all his strength not to go with it as it retreated back. The half-drowned body didn't budge, but he did open his eyes, blue staring back at blue. In that one brief moment of connection, he sensed a familiarity between them that only strengthened the child's resolve to save him. Like him, this large man was different. Maybe he wouldn't hate him for the differences that had driven him out of so many tribes, their spears slashing and poking him, hoping to destroy the demon child that plagued their lands. They had the same colored hair, even the same skin tone and texture, and with a roar of defiance, he refused to let the ocean have him.

Calling upon his giant strength, he braced his tiny legs, grabbed the man with both hands and lifted him high above his head as he half-carried, and half dragged him into the forest. However, they were far from safe, the lightning still managing to make a way through and on to the ground. His screams faded with the echo of the thunder, always followed with bright flashes of light, the animals that were caught without shelter fleeing with him. They trusted their strange human friend to find a safe heaven for them, and it came when he spotted a small den, shoving the large man inside, dragging some branches over it, and curling himself as close as he could get. Birds, squirrels, rabbits, even a fox joined them... their eyes meeting his sky blue ones.

Using his strength on a human was dangerous, and he risked looking at the man's bruised and bloodied face to see his mouth hanging open, breathing painfully. Hesitantly, he touched the blood sliding down his jawline, brought it closer to inspect, and then tucked his hands between their bodies. He usually slept with only his animal friends, but he couldn't pull away from this injured human, afraid that if he did, he'd die. Blue eyes filled with tears, and he pressed all the closer, the animals joining him in his efforts to provide some kind of warmth to both.

Another bolt of lightning smashed into the ground, so close he thought it might have touched him, the animals whimpering with him. He couldn't help it, and he started to cry... Even if the man was here, he was injured and he'd only hit and throw him out if he were awake... That's what they all did, and eventually he fell asleep, his warm tears splashing against his tiny hands.

* * *

He had no idea how he had managed to find himself on the jagged rocks, each tug and push of the waves wrenching a gasp of pain from his already labored breathing. Most of his clothing was gone, floating somewhere in the vast ocean so that he could swim and battle the waves easier. He had had no idea where he was swimming, forced to go with the violent tossing of the waves, and then he had stopped, caught on a large set of jagged boulders that he seemingly latched on to, so afraid that if he let go, he'd find himself sucked back into the maelstrom. He hadn't even considered how he'd make it back home; all he cared to do was make it out of this alive, afraid that as he half-drowned, half-choked, his own people were suffering a similar fate.

At some point he must have lost consciousness, but then he felt something tugging at him. Thinking it was the waves, he tried to hold on to the rocks harder, refusing to go with what ever was pulling at him. Opening his one good eye, he stared, transfixed at the set of sky blue ones staring back at him, terrified, and yet determined to pull him away from the rocks and the water that wanted to claim them both. The boy screamed, clutching on to him as another wave curled over and around them. If he let go, both would find themselves into the ocean and he doubted the boy had the strength or ability to swim against something as violent as those fifty-foot waves. As the wave receded, he allowed the boy to finish pulling him off and towards the beach. It was the last thing he remembered before opening his eyes once more, this time in a dark, but dry hole.

Something soft and warm pressed against him from all sides, and as painful as it was, he forced himself to turn his head and gaped. He thought at first everything had been a dream, that a small child couldn't have possibly come out of the storm to save him... and yet he felt the boy pressed up against him, trembling and crying with each sound of thunder that echoed outside of their little hole. Animals were pressed all around them, some of them trying to comfort the terrified child. He looked nothing like the inhabitants that had been attacking and driving their vessels away, but a smaller version of Sweden and himself.

His breathing was still painful, and he wondered if he had a cracked rib or two, first from the mast breaking and the rope hitting him against the side, and a second time when he smashed up against the rocks. It wasn't easy, but with great effort and a lot of pain, he wrapped his good arm around the boy, feeling him tense, and then settle as he fell into a more relaxed sleep. Other than some kind of fur leggings, the boy had no other forms of clothing, and there were old and new scars covering him from head to foot. He'd worry about who or what the kid was later... he was simply grateful that he had somehow survived, and for the first time since falling into the ocean, he allowed himself to fall asleep.

* * *

The following morning, the pain had only gradually gone away, his body already healing. He only hoped his people were so fortunate; would his enemies take advantage; Sweden was so going to kill him if an invasion did not. Still exhausted, he risked a glance at the bundle of animals and child formed around him... if he didn't know better he'd say that they were pressed closer to the child than himself, all sets of eyes watching the way he handled the boy.

His fingers moved easier, reaching for and touching the blond hair that was so much like his own that he couldn't help but wonder if the boy wasn't of Scandinavian descent. Suddenly he froze... the boy had blue eyes... just like his own... not only had he lifted him out of the water, it was obvious that he had dragged him into some kind of shelter, and the animals seemed to welcome him as if he were their own. This boy wasn't a simple 'human', but a nation personification like himself. Was this the one his father had told them of... He was still so small! His father had mentioned that he might have been, and he'd have to worry over that later, once again wrapping a protective arm around the boy and hugging him closer, feeling the child shiver as another blast of cold air entered the den.

Judging from the tears on the boy's face, he knew he had cried at some point throughout the long night, terrified of the storm. Despite that, he had still risked saving him, and that alone convinced Denmark that the boy was of their blood. No Viking, regardless of how scared they were, would ever tuck tail and run if they had the ability to fight and save one of their own.

* * *

The boy woke with the sound of his stomach echoing in the tiny shelter. He didn't remember the man waking or trying to comfort him, only that he liked how warm he felt. At first when he tried to pull away, the grip around him tightened, but released when he made a second attempt. First, he needed food, and then he'd try to find some way of treating his injuries. His adoptive mother had taught him a little, before she had grown old and died. The memory made him sad, more tears form, but he shook his head. He didn't know why he was different, or why he remained small, while others grew old and died.

Wiping some of the mud from his face, he stood and left the den, ensuring to cover it back up before he took off. Glancing at a fox, he petted it's head and smiled. "Stay with him," he growled. If any had heard him, they would mistake his conversation as nothing more than growls and barks... but he knew all the languages of his animal friends, and as he watched the fox turn around and go back inside the den, he took stock of the damage all around them. He already sensed another storm approaching, and they had to leave this place if they were going to avoid further drops in temperature. Most of the birds flying overhead were moving towards warmer territory, and he needed to go with them if he didn't want to freeze.

A brushing sound in the leaves immediately alerted him to the danger, and shifting on the balls of his feet, he barely dodged the sharp claws grazing his shoulder before landing on all fours with an angry hiss. The boy screamed in pain, staring at the gaping flesh, blood pouring like a river down his arm and onto the still dampened ground.

The cat turned, crouching low as if to make another go. His prey was small, easily obtainable for a quick meal, trembling as if in fright and unable to move. The boy wasn't afraid... he was angry, and his arm wouldn't move. As the cat lifted its head, sniffing the air, the boy screamed a furious challenge, lifting up a giant branch and began to swing it.

Normally the cat would have taken off, but it was hungry, driven out of its den from the storm. Where the boy had strength, the cat made up for it with agility and speed, easily shifting its weight and jumping onto the weapon and made another deadly swipe, this time ripping into his chest. Tears in his eyes, staggering from the loss of blood, he glared at the predator.

* * *

Denmark wanted nothing more than to let himself sleep, to allow more time for his body to recover, but a terrible cry of pain and an angry snarl had him jerking wide awake. His first reaction was to glance down at the empty space beside him, several of the animals pulled as tight as they could make themselves on the other side of him. Grunting in pain, he rolled over to his stomach and peeked through the thick branchs hiding his location, and saw a horrifying scene before him. This was something he might have heard stories about around a camp fire, but that's usually all they were. Viking males always protected their women and children, keeping them as far from the hunts and skirmishes as they could. The rite of passage for a male did not happen until they were at minimum, fifteen years of age, and that was only after they had gone through years and years of conditioning and training from the elder warriors.

This small child was no more than the physical age of four or five, facing off against a feline predator that had left several gashes on his already scarred skin. How many times had the child endured such a thing, courting death? He had done it the night before, risking a violent storm to a pull a man from the ocean. To Denmark, this young child was more of a hero than most of Sweden's warriors, and he couldn't remain lying in a cave while a child tried to fight a man's battle.

Denmark wouldn't have found fault if the boy had tried to run at this point; instead he waited until the feline made another pass, rolled beneath its belly and snatched at the tail. Caught off guard, the cat screamed, but he was already being lifted off the ground, spinning and spinning until small hands released and watched it fly. Denmark thought it was over at that point, but the feline had somehow latched onto a tree, claws digging into the bark, and came lunging back. Taking a step back, the boy slipped, and with a scream of terror and hate, he covered his face, waiting for the final blow... Flesh slammed into flesh, and when he didn't feel teeth ripping into him, he risked opening his eyes and blinked. Standing between the feline predator and himself was the injured human, his arms spread only slightly as the two circled one another.

The feline, furious that something else was blocking its meal, hissed and swiped, always missing the faster humanoid. It didn't have any pointy sticks or arrows, not like the other humans it had seen. Thinking this one an easy kill like the little one, the feline lunged.

Denmark knew this was a deadly game, and tucking his stomach in, he turned sideways, and just as the cat started to rush by, he threw himself on top of the 150 plus pound animal, wrapped his legs around its middle and held on for dear life. Screaming, the cat rolled, kicking its back feet up and clawing at the arms slowly crushing him. A broken branch pierced his shoulder, but he didn't let go, knowing that if he did, the cat might get away.

The boy knew the fight was hurting the man, but he wouldn't stop... just as determined to save the boy, as the boy was to save him. Staggering back to his feet, everything spinning out of control, he made his way slowly forward. He didn't want the man to die, and with a pain filled cry, he lunged forward and latched onto the cat's belly, ignoring the teeth and claws tearing into him.

It hurt... whimpering, he made one last effort to kill the thing, reaching for the animal's throat, and sank his teeth in. He had seen a wolf do this to a deer, never letting go until the prey it had caught stopped moving.

Denmark wanted to scream for the boy to stop, but that was impossible as the cat tossed and turned, desparate to escape their grip. Finally, it went still, taking a final breath and died. Quickly pushing the carcass off of him, he went to the boy and paled... There was so much blood... Unable to pry himself away, the boy looked at him with tear, filled eyes... trying so hard to not cry.

"You foolish, foolish boy," Denmark choked, amazed and humbled at this boy's courage. He'd go the rest of his life and never forget this moment, and with great care, he lifted and carried him back to the den. Denmark didn't know a damn thing about medicine, but he did remember all the times they had sewn him back together again. Sometimes Sweden would pack dirt into his own wounds until he made it back to a shaman; for a human, that was only a quick fix, but for a nation, it was entirely possible to use the method to stop the loss of blood until the magic that flowed in their veins allowed them to heal.

Having no needle or thread, he took off what remained of his upper clothing and covered the boy, his eyes already closed, and skin glistening with sweat. Denmark wasn't going to let this kid die... not after such a vailiant and heroic fight? Still injured himself, as he stepped outside, he braced himself on a tree, letting the wave of dizziness pass as he looked around.

He had to think... what would Sweden do? On the battlefield, they didn't often have healers available. Plants... plants... some of them had soothing ointments that could numb pain and also served to prevent infections. And yet... if he was wrong, the boy's fever would worsen.

Denmark slammed a fist into the tree, watching it crack and fall. He was just as injured, and he had no damn idea what he was doing, and he really didn't want 'that' boy to die.


	6. Stubborn Resolve

Stubborn Resolve

Chapter Five

* * *

Britain hunkered behind a wood pile, trying to assess the situation prior to his main assault. For weeks he had made his plans, and until recently, all of the reports filtering in stated that Denmark's naval fleet was destroyed, and only a handful of survivors were left to pick up the pieces. That wasn't what he saw now... There were regular patrols circling the perimeter, occasionally inspecting anything that appeared out of place, and rotated every half an hour to an hour. It was never the same guards, and to top it off, the guards were a mixture of Prussian and Scandinavian. Each guard was paired up as a Scandinavian and Prussian combination, and they were quite sober. Trying to get closer, he nearly stumbled upon another set of guards, but instead of men, these were women with short swords and spears, their blond hair carefully braided back to keep from flying into their faces.

They didn't laugh or giggle, taking their responsibilities quite seriously as they kept a careful eye on the younger children and babies. Why were they carrying swords? The Vikings never allowed them to fight. Confused, shocked that his reports were so wrong, Britain crawled and inched his way towards some of the structures and froze at the site of all his answers. Standing side-by-side with Finland, was Prussia. No one had ever thought he'd amount to much, his red-eyes always the cause for bullying and violence. He didn't look so small any longer, a long sword at his side, arms crossed, as he listened to whatever Finland was telling him. The village, according to his reports, had nearly been wiped off the map, and yet they were quickly recovering, most of the houses rebuilt, and some of the trading re-occurring at the harbor.

He spotted several ships patrolling the waters, and they weren't trading vessels, but fully equipped war ships with women and children manning them. Britain had no idea how to take this new development. He had hoped to find an, still recovering, unguarded nation. Instead, it was heavily guarded and protected with Scandinavian and Prussian forces. Was Denmark dead, or were they simply providing the necessary support he needed until he recovered? If that were the case, why had Sweden left with so many ships? Was he going to war against someone? The thought hadn't crossed his mind, and having pre-occupied his plans for a strike against Denmark, he hadn't tried to shore up his own defenses.

Why was Prussia helping them? None of his intelligence reports had made mention of this; so distracted with his thoughts, he hadn't seen Finland or Prussia leave until he felt a sword against the back of his neck. "You're as stupid as ever," a familiar accent taunted.

Taking a risk, he glanced over his shoulder and gaped; but Prussia placed a gloved finger over his lips, indicating that he was to say nothing. Reaching down, he easily lifted the nation off the ground and shoved him against the building he had hidden behind, the blade bringing forth just enough blood to force him into compliance. "Maybe you should take more baths..."

"Why you-"

"The perfume just makes you stink more... why cover yourself in such stench when you could simply use a good bar of soap and clean water?"

"Water is expensive," Britain countered.

"Only you would charge for something that is so easily accessible," pointing towards the harbor. "You're not thinking of invading Denmark, are you?"

Britain thought of lying, but knowing Prussia, he probably already had several scrolls of intelligence that listed everything he did and planned on doing. He really needed to do a better job at flushing out the spies in his kingdom, but Prussia didn't look like the rest of his people. His skin was the exact same color as his hair, and his eyes were a demonic red; so much so that several other nations often called him the devil or the devil's spawn. "Since when are you allies with Denmark?"

"Even the awesome Prussia knows when to form a beneficial alliance, especially when it concerns a greedy Empire that takes advantage of situations such as the one recently to befall Denmark. I ask again," he whispered dangerously, the sword digging into Britain's neck further, "is your intent to declare war on Denmark?"

Britain was intelligent enough to figure out that something wasn't right with the situation, but with such faulty information, any kind of battle decision at this point, would result in his death and the destruction of the British Empire. "I was just assessing the situation, wondering if Denmark might want our assistance?"

"He is fine; as you can see," Prussia sneered, his arm sweeping the area to indicate the trade markets, the harbor, and most importantly, the strong display of military force at the borders.

"Why isn't he here to say it himself?" Britain demanded, hoping to best the Prussian at his own game.

"Do you think those ships were Sweden's alone? How do you think they recover so easily from disasters such as this one?" Britain inwardly cursed... Sweden was out for war... and he had wasted so much time... Prussia loved how easy it was to fool his enemy, watching in growing satisfaction as his green eyes flashed with fury. Any other nation might have been afraid, but not Britain. "Everyone knows what happens when a nation suffers natural disaster or extreme poverty... another will swoop in, lower his guard on his own lands... making them so easy to destroy while he or she is away."

"It seems my assistance isn't needed," he stated calmly, but his green eyes told another story entirely. Prussia had a strong hunch that several of Britain's spies were about to have a great shortage in numbers. Pulling back, he lowered his sword, Britain took off as if the very devil was at his heels. Perhaps he was; Prussia wasn't an enemy someone wanted to have, and Finland stepped from his hiding spot.

"Was that such a good idea to let him go? What if he returns with a larger force?"

"I bought us time... if he thinks Sweden will attack one of their main cities, he'll focus all his efforts on building his defenses rather than Denmark. Eventually he'll try again, but these women and old men are far from ready to fight him right now."

Finland once again found himself grateful to the half-land nation, the boy so unaware of who or what he was. He had learned to stand on his own, and their small amount of support seemed to have won them an extremely powerful ally. He wouldn't quite say they were friends, but it was a start, and he at least seemed more approachable than his younger brother. Other than Atlantis, everyone was terrified of Sweden, to include Denmark, Norway, and at times himself.

Prussia didn't seem to mind Finland's presence, offering a small smile despite his reservations at letting others get close to him personally. He still hadn't quite figured out why Atlantis, Sweden, or Finland had saved him a year ago, but he decided not to tempt fate. Finland seemed the friendlier of the group, and as they continued to train Denmark's people, they only grew a stronger friendship between one another.

* * *

Sweden watched a flicker of fear flash in her eyes, but she remained quiet as she guided them to a safe landing point. Jumping down, he talked to several of his warriors, trying to decide on his next course of action. He couldn't stay gone for an indefinite amount of time, not without risking an all out war and invasion from Britain or France. Glancing at Atlantis, "If we keep a steady pace, how long will it take to reach Norway's location?"

"I have very little knowledge of this land; if I swam through the rivers and lakes, perhaps only a few days, but on foot... It might takes us several months to a couple of years."

Sweden ran tired fingers through his blond locks... this wasn't going according to plan, but he couldn't very well leave his brother if he still had a chance of bringing him home. Turning back to the fleet commanders, he issued very clear instructions for them to return back to their homeland and defend it until further notice. Handing his ring over to the main commander, he made it quite clear that he was to give that to his oldest brother; until his return, everyone had to rely on him and a young Prussian to keep them safe. A few protested that he shouldn't make this venture alone, but he couldn't afford to spare any of his warriors if Britain were to launch a full out attack against their shores. They needed every available warrior and ship.

"I can do this alone," he gently told her, knowing that she was responsible for more than just his brothers or himself.

"Again and again, I have lost people that I care for. I have failed not only Denmark, but Norway as well. You ask that I forsake you... never again will you ask such a thing of me." He thought to protest, but not in front of his warriors, and with a few more quick commands, he watched his large fleet pull back and make their long journey home. He had taken so many with him as a show of force, and if everyone thought he had waged war against someone, it would serve to deter any unwanted attacks for that much longer. They were to return in two years time; he only hoped Finland and Prussia could manage until then. His expression alone was often enough to cause fear throughout his ranks, but not her, and she easily met his glare with one of her own.

"I risk everything if I take you."

"You risk everything if you do not," she countered, already making her way inland.

"Damn it," he cursed, catching and lifting her off the ground. Sweden ensured not to hurt her with his powerful grip, but he wasn't about to let her down either, her rainbow colored eyes glaring down at him with so much anger that he almost forgot why he was upset with her in the first place. He couldn't recall a time that she had ever been this defiant towards his decisions, always deferring to his judgement to keep not only his brothers safe, but her as well.

"I am 'not' a child!" she hissed dangerously, a clap of thunder sounding in the distance. He had heard of her power over the skies, the ability to call forth a storm that could flatten an entire nation if she so desired, but he wasn't afraid of her and they both knew it.

"You're right," he agreed, eyes blazing with an equal rage. "You're Atlantis, ruler over the entire Atlantic Ocean, a warrior of legend that I have spent my entire life trying to mirror. One day, you were on 'my' shore, no longer the mighty Queen of Atlantis, but a broken little girl that had lost everything. Instead of giving you time to recover, I watched and listened as your 'brother' decided to pass off his power and responsibility to you, knowing that if you died we'd lose the rest of the world with you. And you ask that I allow you to place yourself in harm's way?" Lowering her until they were eye level... "I don't give a damn of the world... only that I never allow you to feel that kind of suffering ever again."

"I already feel it!" she cried out, tears of anger and sorrow cascading down her face. "First Denmark, and now Norway... we don't even know if Finland or Prussia can outlast the British and French Empires... You ask that I stay back while you try and save your brothers... who protects the protector? Who fights at your side? How do I make you smile instead of feeling hate and rage? You think that you hide how you truly feel from everyone around you, friend, family, and enemy alike; but I know you! I see into your soul, and I know you love them... you're afraid to let them too close, but you're always ready to answer their call for help should anyone else attack. You ask that I let you do this alone... I'll destroy you myself if you ever suggest such a thing again... without you... without your brothers..." Suddenly her anger vanished, her small arms wrapping around his neck as she held him close.

He knew she had blamed herself for Denmark's accident, and she started to see herself as a curse rather than a blessing to them. Sweden didn't want to admit it, but with her... he felt more than just an empty void... even if he didn't smile the way she wanted, it was still more than he would have done if it were just his foolish brothers. Sweden had never seen her fully grown, and he could only imagine how much power she'd possess if she regained her original size. "We should get going," he offered tentatively, no longer trying to send her away. If she wanted to stay and guide him, who was he to deny her?

* * *

As the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, Sweden learned a lot about the injured water nation. She might have partially recovered from her lost nation and brother, but she was still without a people of her own. Why was she insisting on staying with him? He knew she worried for Norway, and quite possibly Denmark as well. When he slept, she kept a silent watch over him, knowing he had the ability to carry her during the day and stick to the rivers until they changed directions. He never chose a path until she gave him a clear direction to follow, trusting her completely to make the right choices. The water she understood, leaving the gathering of wood and food to him. Each day, he woke to see her sitting quietly in front of the fire he had built, an expression of sorrow on her child-like features. No, she most definitely wasn't a child, but Sweden couldn't find himself taking advantage of her while she was in such a state either.

To him, she was a legend, and he had spent his entire life training and growing in not only strength and skill, but to declare a challenge to her when he was old enough. That dream was gone now, but that didn't mean he'd let anything happen to her. "The Scandinavians are strange," she spoke one day, her voice so quiet that he almost didn't hear.

He said nothing, having grown accustomed to the silence between them, making it all the easier to practice on hiding his emotions and facial expressions from others. Strange how it never worked on her; he thought of asking her about it, but decided he wasn't quite ready for the answer. Waiting for her to continue, knowing that she didn't need him to say or ask, she gave him a tight smile before returning her eyes to the dying fire. Picking up a small stick, she threw it on the ashes, watching the flames flicker, almost die out, and then regain some of its former strength. "I was known as the warrior of ice, untouchable... Men used to form long lines to defeat the powerful Atlantis, hoping to stake a claim on everything that I ruled over. It was my brother's idea. He knew that I found no favor towards the other water or land nations that wanted what I had shed blood to nurture and protect. Why should I give it to someone that would simply squander my wealth, hurt my subjects, and declare unnecessary war against other nations?"

Unable to stop himself, he lifted and placed her into his lap, wrapping one of his newly made fur blankets around her. Her eyes started to drift close, as if she were struggling to stay awake, but she forced herself to look up at the intense blue staring back at her. "I've tried to understand the reasoning behind your decisions; why you would go to such lengths to shelter and protect a broken and defeated water nation. Is it my power you want? My wealth?"

He really hadn't consider any of those things from her; granted she probably had a vast amount of wealth hidden beneath the waves, out of the reach of those that walked on land, and he had more than enough power and influence of his own that he really saw no need for hers. Even as a child, she was more than powerful enough to decimate his entire country and more. At first, he thought his decisions were centered around the fact that she was not only a child, but a female child. His people always protected them, ensuring their survival so that they may continue their existence. And yet... she was not of their people, and the rules he applied among the Viking nations did not extend to her. The day Oceanonis had appeared, intent on abandoning her to the land nations, with her memories a fragmented mess, he had felt so much rage and hate that he had almost struck the water nation. He couldn't understand how her brother might consider abandoning her; even now, without fully knowing if Norway or Denmark was still alive, he'd continue searching for them until he had them safely back at home, or their bodies to provide a proper burial and passage to the next life.

"Challenger after challenger fell at my feet, my spear ripping out their hearts. What did I care if they lived or died? It was not my love they sought, and eventually I no longer felt regret for their foolish choices and selfish desires. I lost my ability to feel compassion for such things as love and friendship... Everything that I had, others wanted, to include the other water nations. It was thought, that if one defeated the powerful ruler of the Atlantic, they'd gain my power and turn on Oceanonis. One day, instead of facing me one-on-one, they joined together and assaulted my islands and my people. When I woke, I was in the form of a small child, resting in your home, you looking after me with a fierce determination and stubbornness."

"I couldn't remember why I was there, why my entire body hurt, and then I felt the loss of my brother many centuries later. And yet I still did not grow; I was still here at your side, and I no longer wanted to shy away from your insistent need to protect a warrior that had once faced off against the mighty Trojan Armies."

Atlantis didn't even understand what she was feeling or why; the feelings between a man and a woman had never interested her. And yet, the thought of these five men, all warriors in their own right, struggling to keep her alive despite the terrible risk to their own lives and people... she felt herself humbled at their sacrifices... and confused. Why? What did they hope to gain from all of this? Sweden decided that they didn't have to travel that day, sensing that she needed this far more than another day in a world neither of them knew. He had a feeling she chose their resting points based on the people that lived here, wanting to avoid unnecessary confrontations with them. As she slept, she remained close to him, not that he'd push her way.

Sweden tried to rationalize his behavior, and failed. She wasn't his sister, nor was she of his bloodline... Atlantis was so damn powerful, that if she did regain her original size, she'd vanish forever. Why would she need the help of weaker land nations at that point? Each day they had her, he cherished it, and he knew that no other nation had the ability to claim they had sheltered, nurtured, and protected the last remaining water nation in existence. He knew he was stronger than average; hell, any warrior that tried to take him down often ended up on a cart, his poor mother weeping over his dead body. As the sun began to set, he still didn't have an answer, and instead of falling asleep, they chose to follow the river by moonlight.

"I have no reason," he finally answered, watching her halt and turn to him. At first she was confused, almost forgetting the story she had told him hours before. "You wanted to know why we chose to take you in... honestly, I have no idea. Even now, some of the concessions I have allotted to you... they go against our very beliefs, but I don't regret re-teaching you how to lift and use a sword, or how to defend yourself... We knew that you might one day return to the water... so we chose to give you everything that we had to make that possible. And if I was perfectly honest; I did want to challenge you, but not to claim as a wife, but to prove myself as a warrior."

"You didn't want..."

Sweden gave her a rare smile, one that actually reached his eyes and she found herself frozen in place, unable to look away. "I'm not saying that I wouldn't have wanted you, but... at that point in time, all I cared for was battle and making a name for myself. I thought if I could gain your approval, none would question my leadership or ability to lead them into battle."

Kneeling until they were face to face, he gently reached for one of her dark strands of hair, allowing it to slide through his strong fingers. "I forget at times that you are just as much of a warrior as myself, and for that I ask your forgiveness. If I try to send you on ahead, or ask that you stay, it is not meant as an insult. When you say that you didn't want a suitor; was it truly because you thought they wanted your power, or because you feared that they might make you vulnerable if something should happen?"

She started to say something, and paused. Was that the reason? She knew that Sweden had often thought of her while he fought one nation after the next, and it had been one of the biggest reasons for her leaving. If he continued protecting her instead of solely focusing on his battles, he'd eventually find himself in a situation that he couldn't win without sacrificing himself in order to save her. "Is that why you try to hide your emotions from everyone?" she asked, knowing that's what he'd been doing for the past several weeks.

"If my enemies knew my weaknesses, they'd exploit them, and there is nothing that I care for more than my brothers or the little water nation that we have all agreed upon to protect." She started to pull away, but he simply crushed her into a protective embrace, wanting her to understand that none of them had had any regrets or reservations with their choice. "My temper has caused us more trouble than it has helped, and I've decided that I'd rather have my enemies assume and guess wrong what I think or feel; wrong choices and decisions are often made when one assumes they know what another does."

"Will that not serve to push everyone away, to include your brothers?"

"Better that everyone assume I don't care, and I keep them alive, than my enemy figure out that without them, I am nothing."

"You're such an idiot," she whispered, burying her face against his chest. The more she tried to understand this man, the more she failed, and it frustrated her. It was so much easier to kill and fight a man that had only his own desires to consider and not those that sacrificed their lives for him. Every decision Sweden and his brothers made, it was for the entire nation and not just themselves. Denmark was the prankster, Norway was the voice of reason, Finland was the peace maker, and Sweden... well he was the strength that held them together, unwavering and true to his sense of honor as a warrior and protector. He could stake a claim over his brother's lands, knowing Denmark didn't have a way of stopping him. In doing so, he'd also destroy Norway. And yet... he had sent his entire military back, to strengthen Denmark's and Norway's vulnerable ones until he had brought them back. "You're only confirming my belief that the five of you are beyond hopeless and in need of a real protector."

It was at that exact moment, as she declared her protection over them, that an array of colors engulfed her body. Jumping back, Sweden watched as she began to grow, the clothes that had been far too big, now too small, forcing him to glance away. Had he really just told her he wasn't interested in a wife? One glance at her, and he knew he'd kill anyone that even so much as hinted at wanting her... never mind that she had the ability to do it herself. Had the solution been that simple? She had needed someone to protect in order to become an adult again? Now that he thought of it; she had stayed with them in the beginning because she had need of their strength, but not out of affection or a sense of friendship.

At some point, that had changed... here she was, traveling across the land none of them had ever charted, risking exposure to the local natives, finally admitting that she was doing so because she considered them as 'hers' to protect. "Atlantis, explain what you meant." He already knew, but he wanted her to admit it not only to him, but to herself as well.

"You're not the only one that has someone to protect. Before the fall of Atlantis, I never understood what that meant, and the thought of losing any of you... well... it's just not an option." She didn't want to admit that Sweden was perhaps higher on her priority list than the others, and when he glanced at her, she saw nothing but an intense heat reflected back at her in those blue orbs of his. He tried to hide those emotions, but his eyes gave him a way every damn time. "Still want to issue that challenge?" she gently teased, his eyes darkening.

"I'm considering it, but not before you've had a chance to refine your fighting skills."

Tilting her head, he noted the way the edges of her lips curled upwards, the way her dark brow lifted and it dawned on him that she had once been the way he was now. She had shut off her emotions from those around her, keeping everyone at a distance, but when she had lost her memories and her powers; there was no way she could go back to that kind of loneliness, not when these brave fools insisted on protecting her. Taking a step closer, she gently traced the lines of his cheekbone, down to his jaw, and paused at his bearded lip. "What makes you assume that you have the ability to best me... even at my weakest I still destroyed the Arctic and Antarctic Nations before I reverted back to a child."

Her declaration should have terrified him; instead it only strengthened his desire to make himself worthy of her, not just as a warrior, but the leader he had strove so hard to become. "My goal was never to defeat you... it was simply to win your approval and to gain your blessing."

"You've already had that," she softly spoke, starting to pull back.

Sweden, in that exact moment, had never struggled with himself more. Even though his expression revealed nothing of what he wanted, he knew she knew. "I need to make more clothing; I suppose."

"Why? I'll just throw them off later anyway," she taunted, already turning to head further west.

Unable to stop himself, Sweden grabbed her wrist and spun her around, her body slamming heavily into his own. "It's difficult enough not to make a complete fool of myself, but if another man sees you the way I am now... I'll destroy them, regardless if they're my brothers or not." It was official, he definitely confused her. She was practically offering herself to him, and yet he was holding back, fighting the discomfort he was in, placing her needs above his own. That in itself should have been impossible; unless... Sweden was in love with someone else; he wasn't even aware of it, but it would have been the only way for him to fight his attraction to her.

"My initial assessment stands; Scandinavians are very... unique." Seeing that look of confusion in her eyes, was worth the restraint he was placing on himself. He knew she'd not stop him if he chose to claim her, but he wanted her to know that it wasn't for anything other than herself. Atlantis had no reason to trust any of them, the shadows of her past still lingering in her beautiful eyes. That following night, Sweden once again struggled with his primal instincts... feeling her settle beside him and fall asleep. As a child, he saw nothing wrong with keeping her as close as she was right now, but as a fully grown woman... if she did this with his brothers, he already knew they'd not have to worry over their nations or people any longer, he'd rip them apart and claim what was left. And he had to spend another year and a half with her? Alone? Did he even have that kind of restraint or will power?


	7. Norway's Jailers

Norway's Jailers

Chapter Six

* * *

He was a Viking... a warrior... something everyone feared. No, he wasn't as powerful as Sweden, or as reckless as Denmark, but he was still a proud warrior with several successful raids to boast about for achievements. So why was he being carried on a pair of antlers, back to a 'child' and dropped in front of him as if he were the one who had done something wrong? Again and again he had tried to make his way back to the ocean, intent on throwing himself off the highest cliff he could find, but the boy wasn't having it. Norway had had his moments he'd rather die first than admit to, but being bested by a boy and his 2,000 pound polar bear was something he'd never, under any circumstances, discuss with his brothers.

Okay... so maybe this child wasn't normal. A human child he could have outsmarted, even over powered. Watching him rip out a giant oak and throw it at an unwanted challenger to his bear friend... well that was enough to make him reconsider his options. Norway, at some point during all of this, had never known such humiliating defeat, and this time it was the polar bear that had him. So tying up the boy had been a stupid idea... It wasn't like he had hurt him, but the polar bear hadn't taken it that way, and with a furious roar, he had quickly tracked Norway down, knocked him around until he was nearly unconscious, and dragged him back to what he referred to as cave prison. With arms crossed, the boy pointed to the back of the den, and the bear was only too happy to drop and sit on him.

How the hell was this kid so strong? It was insane even to consider the idea, and to top it off, all the animals complied to his every demand. And right now, that was keeping a very determined Norway from escaping and killing himself. Problem number three; Norway didn't dare attempt starving himself. The boy had found a quick solution for that act of defiance as well. It was like dealing with an adult in a child's body, and Norway had no way of coping with it rationally. Outsmarted and miserable, Norway endured yet another day without joining his twin in the after life.

Dozing, trying to figure out a way to escape, Norway woke with a painful cry, feeling as if his arm had been shattered against a large rock. Gasping for air, Norway tried to figure out the source, the bear immediately standing and giving him space as he released another agonizing scream. He felt like something was ripping his flesh off, biting at him... He saw no blood, and his arms were still completely in tact, and that's when he realized that what he was feeling and experiencing wasn't his own, but Denmark's.

Norway realized two things. First, Denmark was alive, their link broadcasting every broken bone and slash. Second, Denmark was in a life and death battle, and he was already badly injured.

 _Denmark?_

His twin, under normal circumstances, might have been able to answer. However, the distance between them was far too great, and he was too focused on his fight to acknowledge him. Hearing his screams, the boy had come back, putting down the berries he had gathered, and moved to touch the crying human's face. He didn't shy away this time, and with desperate eyes, he blinked, and focused his gaze on the child.

The boy stood, taking his hand and pulling him outside. Norway tried to understand... was he letting him go? Taking a step to the southwest, he waited for either of them to throw him back into the cave, instead they simply waited. Another wave of pain brought him to his knees, and he gasped for air... what the hell was Denmark fighting, and why was he in a killing rage? Once again, the boy touched his arm, a flicker of awareness flooding into his violet eyes... were those tears in his eyes? It took Norway a moment to understand what he was doing, and with a shout of alarm, he pulled away, falling heavily to his rear and scooting back.

No... no... no... this boy was a child. The kind of abilities he was displaying were often found in full grown ancients like Oceanonis, Atlantis, or even his own father. And yet here he was, absorbing Norway's fear and pain into himself. Norway knew it was hurting the kid, but the boy wasn't complaining, and with a growl, he was already on the back of his polar bear, waiting for him to lead the way. Great... not only had the kid taken him hostage, but was now giving him orders. Norway's life had just gone from strange and humiliating, to an alternate reality. Maybe he had fallen off the ship... he was in the process of drowning, and this was simply a dream he had to get through before finding his brother on the other side?

The air around him warned of a fast approaching winter... how long had he been stuck here? Closing his eyes, Norway focused all of his energy into what everyone referred to as the twin bond. He had no explanation for how it worked, but it had often saved the brothers in desperate situations, and it seemed Denmark was having one of those. There was no denying the seriousness of his brother's injuries, but Denmark seemed frightened, frantic to save something. And he had yet to respond to his twin's attempts at connecting to him. Glancing one last time at the boy, he waited, and when the boy nodded, he took off.

* * *

The boy kept a careful eye on Norway, trusting that he no longer wanted to kill himself. He was still heading back to the shore, but instead of going directly for the water, he kept to the shore, at times pulling ahead of them, only to stop, focus on something they couldn't see or smell, and take off again. The boy's instincts about this one had been right... he wasn't like the other natives. It wasn't until they came to the bottom of the mountain ranges that Norway stopped, jumping onto a series of rocks, hopping from one to another, seemingly oblivious to the fact, that one wrong step and he'd fall in.

At last he stopped and knelt, reaching for something that had gotten caught in a crack. He had no idea how the hell Denmark had done it, and he truly didn't care, but his twin was most definitely alive, and he now had the proof in the palm of his hands. The bear called out to him, startling him from his thoughts, as he looked in the direction the boy was pointing. Climbing off the rocks, and back onto the shore, he made his way to the treeline and paused. Not that he wasn't grateful, but why was this kid helping him anyway? He definitely wasn't any more tame than the bear he rode upon, and he avoided the natives as much as they did him...

Norway wasn't good with kids... Granted, Denmark and himself had started out on this adventure, hoping that who they were searching for was grown. He hadn't even considered what they might have done had they run into them prior to the storm. Contrary to belief, Nations did not start out with a people of their own, not usually. Some inherited pieces of land gifted to them from an ancient, such as Norway and his other brothers. These boys were not like that. It seemed, that as soon as Scandinavia stepped foot on to this land, the boys came into existence... The natives might have come before or after, traveling back and forth across the land bridge, and he had no idea if the boys were twins, or if one was older than the other. With their being so few inhabitants, it wouldn't surprise Norway if either child had remained in their physical state for several thousand years. The question was, just how old were his two brothers, and was the other one still a child as well?

A second difference between a nation and a human, despite being a child and regardless of their physical appearance, a nation child was extremely intelligent and just as dangerous as the adults. Iceland, despite being younger than this boy, had the help of his brothers to establish his nation and development. Everything this boy in front of him knew, he had had to learn on his own, without any assistance or contact with others like him. There were hints of fear in those violet eyes, and yet he had pulled Norway out of that cave, and stubbornly refused to let him die. That still didn't explain the boy's amazing strength. Sweden had been like this as well; and it never ceased to amaze Norway how the man had the ability to crush an entire bolder and not even buckle beneath its massive weight.

Kneeling, he noted the drag marks, leading from the rocks to here. If these belonged to Denmark, something was carrying him, but what? There were blood stains on the trees and rocks, something the boy had spotted as well. This boy astounded him, not only did he have an affinity for animals and nature, but he was proving himself as a master tracker as well. If he was this terrifying as a child, he trembled at the idea of what he'd become as an adult. Climbing off the bear, he waited as the animal sniffed the ground, did the same to Norway, and took off. It was like having some kind of blood hound, only this one was 2,000 pounds.

Norway had no idea what they were going to find, but a dead cat, its throat ripped out and a half-dead boy was not it. Charging through the forest, several plants in his arms, Denmark came to a skidding halt when he spotted his twin, another child at his side, and a... was that a polar bear?! Standing, the boy walked over to what Denmark had in his arms and scowled, knocking them away, and motioning for Norway to follow. Glaring at Denmark, he pointed for him to stay with the injured child, and Norway at this point just complied.

Denmark wasn't sure if he should find himself amused, offended, or both. Several minutes later, the two of them returned, Norway holding a leaf full of water, and the boy some kind of dark green plants that had some kind of green liquid coming from it. Tugging at Norway's clothing, he took it off and handed it to the boy, watching as he began to rip it to shreds, dipping it in the water and started to clean the injured boy's cuts from dirt and infection. Next, he started to grind the plant against some kind of boulder, using a smaller rock as a tool. "Should I even ask?"

"If you figure him out; please enlighten me."

Norway and Denmark decided there wasn't much either of them could do, and waited outside of the den, the polar bear keeping a silent watch. "We can't cross the land bridge," Norway finally spoke.

"We're going to have to go south and east..."

"Have you ever seen the storms this bad before?"

"No... I'm not a water nation, and I can't say I know much about the storms that often plague our ships or our lands, but these... these seem..."

"Out of balance," Norway finished. Denmark nodded, and it was at that exact moment that he felt the soft touch of Norway's child companion. He pointed at the injured child, and then the bear. "He wants you to put him on the bear," Norway interpreted.

"Shouldn't he stay put?" Denmark protested.

The boy pointed to the sky, as if trying to warn them. Norway didn't like it... however, without Atlantis, there was no way to confirm or deny their growing fear... It was like something was after them, wanting them dead... Taking great care not to cause further injury to the boy, Denmark lifted and cradled him close, his complexion pale. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd find himself on the back of a large polar bear, a boy cub behind him, and Norway following at their side. The boy cub leaned over and motioned for Norway to climb on... "Is there enough room?" The boy tugged, his eyes flying back towards the swirling clouds...

At this point, Norway had learned to trust him, and just as the bear started to run, Norway risked a glance over his shoulder and paled. A torrent of water was rushing towards them, flattening the trees, boulders and animals being pushed in front. What the hell was going on and why were they the targets?


	8. The Russian, Prussian, and Scandinavian

The Russian, Prussian, and Scandinavian Alliance

Chapter Seven

* * *

Russia glared at the nation before him. Not that he wouldn't welcome a fight with Prussia, but never on anyone else's terms but his own. Why was Britain even here? He was fully aware of the recent events taking place in Denmark, but despite his decimated population, his brothers were currently a unified front when it came to potential outside threats. A fight with one, meant a fight with all four, and eventually five. He wasn't a fool, regardless of how young he was. Scandinavia was not a viable target; he'd rather keep his focus on more obtainable ones, and until a few days he ago, he would have said it was the very nation that Britain was asking him to go to war with.

Prussia still operated mostly alone, but him teaming up with the Scandinavians had caught several other nations off guard, causing a tremor of fear and restlessness. What was he thinking? However, Russia knew Britain, and he never kept his promises or alliances. Prussia he understood, at times respected despite being enemies with. Only an idiot would agree to an alliance with the British Empire, his treaties and promises filled with so many loop holes that they could make a race course out of it. The only exception to that rule, was perhaps France. Even if the moments were brief, France had the ability to befriend the bastard for any period of time, and that in itself wasn't very often either. The two were in a constant love and hate relationship, always at each other's throats, and it simply amazed the Russian how the two hadn't killed each other off already.

Russia's expression was one of cool indifference, but it was the way he smiled that put people on edge, the icy, coldness in his purple eyes... He had no love for the rest of the world, but he didn't hate it either. He was now old enough to understand that they often didn't have a choice in who they fought or why, but he refused to play puppet to his people, or anyone else for that matter. The nation was the people, and the people were the nation. Without one, the other did not exist, and he refused to allow them to gain control of his mind, or his actions. Britain on the other hand, could not say the same. Was it Britain that wanted Denmark, or was it the stupid monarchy that never seemed satisfied with what they had?

They were a rapidly expanding nation, always eyeing another man's wealth and lands as if they had the right to it all. What did it matter that they had enough land of their own, or that their wars were literally starving the people to death? And if they failed to pay... Russia never hated a nation so much as he did Britain... the people were beyond pathetic, rotting in their own filth, thrown in dungeons because they lacked even a single coin to pay for even the cheapest of taxes. The church was by far the most corrupt, lining their pockets with the people's hard earned money, and it seemed the monarchy fell beneath their supposed religious laws. To Russia... Britain was a powerful child, one that broke his toys if he didn't get what he wanted, how he wanted, and when he wanted. And right now, it was extremely obvious what that was... Denmark.

Britain's way of conducting a war was appalling, far worse than anything he could accuse Sweden of. He had report after report detailing the massacres of women and children, herded into barns, locked inside, and burned alive. "My reports are quite different than yours, da? Denmark might have suffered a heavy loss of life and economical value, but they still live, and are quickly recovering."

"What of it?" Britain scowled, irritated that Russia was being difficult.

Russia's smile grew, and if it were anyone else, they would have understood the danger and meaning behind it. "You seem unaware of how we exist, how we are intertwined with our land and our people. Kill the people, and you stand a good chance at destroying the Nation. It is not always successful, and there are very rare cases where a Nation might survive such an event... destroy the nation, and the people will die with him: for example, Troy, Carthage, Babylon, and Pompeii." Russia normally wouldn't have hesitated to provide a physical example, to instill an unnatural fear into countries that irritated and angered him, but when he stared into Britain's emerald eyes, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

What did he truly know of Britain? Everyone had this assumption that he was weak and fragile; so why was he so powerful now? Not wanting to display his growing uneasiness, he stood, leaning over to glare at the Brit... "I'm not interested," his gaze as cold as ice, filled with a menacing hatred for everything and everyone around him.

"You're not interested at getting even with Prussia?" he taunted, trying to goad the ice nation into a fight.

Russia didn't care how dangerous it was; if he was going to have a war, he'd ensure that Britain knew who and what he was dealing with. With calculating and deliberate movements, he lifted Britain out of his chair and brutally slammed him against the wall, pale fingers wrapped around his slender throat. "I am not your pawn to do with as you please, nor am I afraid of your toy boats and sissy Soldiers... they know nothing of the cold that will freeze your skin until it cracks and bleeds... I am Russia, and this is MY home, and MY land, and I will choose who I go to war with, who I destroy... and I may very well decide that my next target isn't a red-eyed little boy, but the so-called powerful British Empire. I like challenging toys to play with, and you may very well discover that you're easily broken, just like the skin that turns nice shades of purple when I squeeze only a little, da?" Taking a step closer, the Russian's free hand stroking down the blond's cheek, "Perhaps I show you the lesson that I taught Prussia, da?"

It bothered Russia that he saw no fear in Britain's eyes, only insane hatred and rage. As he made his way back home, Britain decided that he didn't need Russia after all, and he'd add the arrogant bastard to his long list of nation's to conquer after he was done with Denmark. He had even considered bullying Spain, but the Austrian/Hungarian Empire was far too powerful at this point to push Spain into an unwanted alliance. He hated them anyway; it was because of those two bastards that he couldn't get his hands on either North or South Italy, both brothers separated and safe guarded. Buying Italy had failed, and one look into South Italy's tear filled eyes, Spain had ordered Britain out, threatening a war if he persisted with his not so polite requests.

Not a single nation had failed to note the passing of Sweden's grand fleet, going west through the Atlantic, and then coming back. Everyone feared an invasion, but when none came, it only caused more confusion and chaos. What was the Scandinavian leader thinking? Despite being the second oldest of five, Sweden was the one all the brothers looked to for military guidance, and when he declared war on someone, he rarely relented unless the losses were so great that he would have to regroup before reconsidering another attempt. Of the five Scandinavian countries, only Denmark, Sweden, and Norway waged war against the rest of the world if provoked. They no longer had a high priority to seek out warmer climates, a good portion of their territories becoming more and more green and accessible to crops and settlement. Iceland was one of the newer nations, but Norway and Denmark had made it very clear that they'd smash anything and everything that came too close to him.

Britain stormed through his castle, trembling in fury as nation after nation backed out of his original plans to invade and take Denmark. With the return of Sweden's fleet and warriors, no one was stupid or insane enough try. If Britain wanted to attempt suicide, they'd simply sit back and pick up the pieces once Sweden was done with him. Not to mention, seeing as how Britain was right next to Denmark's borders, it could very well just become a part of his land instead. That would definitely bring some amusement out of his more back-stabbing allies.

* * *

Having few options available, and not one to sit in the sidelines, Russia decided he'd personally investigate the reports filtering into his headquarters. Granted, a good-portion of Denmark's population had lost their lives in a surprise storm, but no one claimed to have seen him, Norway and most recently Sweden. In fact, the reports had gone so far as to mention that it was Finland and Prussia making all the decisions. He might not like Prussia, but something about Britain demanded he set that aside and consider a temporary alliance. His reports were accurate, but lacking at the same time. The Prussia and Scandinavian nations were in joint operations; that part was accurate. What his reports hadn't mentioned, was the hand-to-hand combat training Prussia was providing to the women and children. Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, would have never agreed to this; meaning... there was far more truth to Denmark's instability. He'd even go so far as to extend that instability to Norway and Sweden.

Why take so many ships and send them back? Not a single country had reported an invasion, but they had clearly gone somewhere, but where and why? It was very rare for Sweden to make war during the winter months; Northern Countries preferred to spend their time making preparations and resting for the upcoming spring and summer raids. The devastation to Denmark was a lot worse than he had first assumed. The coastal areas had yet to regain even a fraction of their markets, and it wasn't trading ships in the water, but fully equipped and manned war ships.

In the distance, he spotted Finland walking from dock to dock, issuing orders, pointing out discrepancies, and even pitching in if he felt preparations weren't going quite to his specifications. Russia saw things others did not, and anyone that thought Finland was harmless, well... he wouldn't have any sympathy or compassion when they returned home like a bunch of whipped puppies. Finland was almost classified as an ancient... weak... Russia snorted in bitter amusement. And everyone wondered why he had no patience for stupid, easily influenced nations?

Russia had several options. It was quite apparent from his quick observations that it was Finland, not Sweden, in charge of current operations. Prussia definitely had a hand in the training and border re-enforcement's, leaving all naval operations to his Scandinavian ally. One, he could gather his entire military and slam it against Scandinavia. If he was right, he'd not have much opposition, and could easily take Denmark and possibly Norway and Sweden. However, that would definitely stretch his forces far too thin, and on the off chance that he was wrong, he'd lose far too many lives and not have enough left over to counter future invasions from countries like Afghanistan or Turkey. Two, he could accept Britain's offer, but that left a fowl taste in his mouth. Aside from truly hating him, he'd have to worry over having him so close to his borders.

He'd never stop once he had Denmark, and he'd become more power hungry with each nation that fell beneath his parasitic ideas. Besides, that would still leave him vulnerable to Prussia, and he didn't need to add Britain to that equation. And then there was option number three: he'd team up with Finland and Prussia, and keep Britain exactly where he was; fuming on a throne with no one supporting his power hungry desire for another nation's land. Prussia had matured over the past couple of years, no longer as intent on conquering, as he was at defending and smashing anyone that challenged him. Each invasion just made him stronger, and now he was as large as the Austrian/Hungarian Empires.

Minus their little play time in Russia, Prussia had yet to lose a single battle, always one step ahead of his opponents. Russia knew that this boy, almost a man, was a worthy adversary. Returning to where Prussia was training, he waited, content to watch and learn how the red-eyed nation thought and operated. He wasn't disappointed, and as the day progressed, Prussia finally called an end and made his way over. Prussia, like himself, showed no signs of fear. Instead, he gave an arrogant smile, almost taunting in nature.

"The British Empire has offered friendship," he spoke, not bothering at subtlety. The Prussian wasn't known for it either, and judging from the narrowing of his red gaze, he was well aware of the enemy's eyes on Denmark's territory.

"Britain doesn't have any friends; at least none that he won't stab in the back."

"Then we have an understanding, da?"

"I suppose we do," Prussia agreed, allowing the Russian to follow after him. As much as he disliked the man, most of that had to do with their nations throwing them at each other. Ever since his close call in the cold lakes of Russia, he had intentionally avoided further confrontations, focusing on getting smarter, stronger, and faster than his enemies.

"If I offer my support; what is it worth?"

"What are you offering?" Prussia should have known Finland would have spotted them. Russia was no fool; with Finland in charge, and no sign of the other Scandinavians, the world faced an extreme power shift. He'd rather not see how that played out.

"Britain getting stronger is the last thing any of us need. The moment he gains a foothold in Denmark; he'll focus the rest of his efforts on Sweden, Norway, Iceland, and eventually yourself. I don't need the British Empire sitting on my doorsteps. If I help, I want trading and travel rights to your ports."

Finland had no idea if Sweden, Denmark, or Norway might agree, but they weren't here, and they needed all the help they could find. Russia's offer as an ally was unexpected, but he'd not refuse it. Even Prussia saw the benefits, and he nodded in agreement. It wasn't his place to refuse his help, anyway. If they failed to stop Britain from taking Denmark, they'd have a serious problem on their hands. "Is Denmark still alive?"

"Has anyone seen a body?" Finland countered, neither confirming or denying Russia's question. Russia considered taking insult, but he rather liked the brave front the nation was trying to display, Sweden nowhere in site to hide behind or seek approval. His initial assessment of this nation was correct. He wasn't weak and they both knew it as Finland smiled and thumped him on the back. What Russia couldn't understand was why Finland chose to operate in the shadows of his brothers? He had a lot to learn from this one.

Showing them their maps, Finland gave him a quick and accurate run down of all their patrols and operations. To their growing horror, Russia quickly showed every spot that Britain could attack and destroy them, his mind just as sharp as Prussia's when it came to military tactics and warfare. Without Denmark's military to back them, they simply didn't have enough to cover Denmark's entire border and man the patrols on the water front. Having Russia effectively solved that problem, and for the first time, Prussia actually found himself liking and respecting him, but not enough to let his guard down. An enemy was sometimes the greatest ally when faced against a stronger and more dangerous adversary. Later that evening, Prussia joined the taller nation and offered him some ale. One sip and Russia scowled, barking out an order, and soon he shoved a bottle into the Prussian's startled grasp. "Drink mine, da? Then you throw that other filth in the ocean." Doubting that it was really any better, Prussia excepted the challenge and gasped, completely taken by surprise at how powerful it was, and the cold that forever hugged his skin, vanished instantly.

"What the hell is this?" he gasped, trying hard not to choke.

"Vodka."

Prussia didn't want to admit it, but he loved it. Deciding that they had a long winter ahead of them, Prussia let go of their horrible past together, and enjoyed the Russian's company. Perhaps if their nations hadn't hated one another, he might have even considered calling him a friend. Finland soon joined them, a trio of the most unlikely combination. The moment word reached Britain of the Russian's alliance with Scandinavia and Prussia, a roar of pure rage and hatred vibrated throughout the castle walls. That very same day, everyone imprisoned in his dungeons were immediately executed, Britain carrying out their death sentences personally.

* * *

Sitting in Spain's home, France moved one of the chess pieces, deep in thought. "Who would have thought; a Prussian, Scandinavian, and Russian alliance."

"You know as well as I that it's the perfect counter to Britain; and I for one don't disagree."

"Do you think there's any truth to Denmark's death?"

"It's difficult to say, and is calling their bluff worth the risk? There's a lot of defense shoring up along his borders for someone that's possibly dead, si?"

"Agreed. Perhaps we should sit back on this one, and simply await the results of the winner."

"That might not work in our favors either. If Britain wins, he will remember who refused to help as much as those that sided against him." France shivered in fear; he once remembered a boy that was so easy to torment, but that boy was now a man and a very dangerous one.


	9. Declaration of War

Declaration of War

Chapter Eight

* * *

Atlantis sensed his growing frustration with the passing of each day, the nights growing longer, and the days ever colder. As much as he wanted to continue their journey across this unknown land, they were finally forced to take shelter in a large cave. Sweden had grown so impossibly quiet now, and Atlantis didn't know if she liked or hated it. He had this stupid idea that if he showed emotion, his enemies might discover what he truly cared for and exploit it. Even his angry outbursts were few and far between now, leaving her to figure him out through more subtle means. Sweden didn't fool her; he cared deeply for his brothers, and the idea of something happening to Finland or even Prussia while he was searching for Norway or Denmark... it would unleash a maelstrom of violence the world had not seen since the 'Great Wars.' Sweden had been so angry when her brother had decided to pass on, but Atlantis, upon regaining her original size and a portion of her memories, had understood.

In his hand, he twirled his very worn down sword, the weapon needing a lot of attention. It was quite possible he'd need a new one upon his return, but he wasn't overly concerned with that at the moment. "I will go check on them," she finally offered, amused to finally gain a reaction from him. Even though his face revealed nothing, the way he had lowered his word, the lighting up of his eyes... she knew her offer meant something to him. Sweden had long ago stopped asking her to leave him to this task alone, but at the moment she had no real concern that he'd leave the cave. Even if he did decide to continue on, most of the natives were in the warmer regions and wouldn't return until late spring.

Nodding, he added another log to the fire, trying to figure out what he was going to do. It wasn't until she reached for his hand that he remembered that he wasn't alone, the time without his warriors or his brothers forcing him into silence. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and he found it amusing when she tried to generate a conversation and failed. Only when they were training did she see him truly smile... but she had a feeling he'd work on that as well. He didn't want to give the enemy any way to figure him out, and that meant he'd have to make it hard on those that cared for him as well. "I've got this feeling, that when I come back, you won't ever talk again."

There was a slight lift at the corner of his lips, but the way he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, told her everything that she needed to know. "Norway and Denmark won't make that easy on you." Did she truly believe that Denmark had survived? Handing him Denmark's armband, "Hold that, just in case you're crazy enough to venture on without me."

"Stay well," he warned, knowing that her leaving placed her outside of his reach to assist or protect.

"I'll return in the spring," she promised. Not receiving any kind of worded response, she sighed, stood and started towards the entrance when she felt him crush her from behind. It was in the way he held her, the slight tremble that she finally understood. Sweden, having been forced to take charge, had never had a real chance to grieve or cry for his brothers. That wasn't the way of a warrior; not when everyone had turned to him for guidance. Everything was falling a part around him, he had no way of knowing what he'd return home to, and once again they were relying on Atlantis instead of the other way around. He knew she was the legendary warrior of the South and North Atlantic, but that didn't make this any easier for him.

He knew when she turned into him, letting his scent calm her, it wasn't out of desire, but familiarity. With that in mind, and reminding himself of the vow he had made to her brother, had put everything back into perspective. As the temporary leader of Scandinavia, he had to let her go. What little time he often had, it had to go towards battle preparations... one mistake and he potentially risked the lives of thousands, not to mention, that after she was done finding Norway and Denmark, she had to go back to the Ocean. The longer she stayed away from it, the more they risked at setting off some kind of catastrophe the world might not recover from.

"If you need to take longer... I can simply keep my back to the sun during the day, and rest at night." She hadn't expected him to say anything, but Sweden simply didn't want to waste words on unnecessary chatter. That would make what he had to say all the more important for others to stop and listen. Atlantis was just as afraid of letting him venture this land without her, afraid of losing three of the five brothers, instead of just the one or two.

"Promise you won't start a war with the natives..."

His grip tightened, and they both knew he wouldn't ever promise such a thing; it wasn't in his nature, but he'd avoid one if necessary. His purpose at this point was to find his brothers and go home. "I was thinking, if I could somehow find them, we could return home across the land bridge."

"If you can reach it by summer, it's possible, but what of Russia."

"I'll work a deal with him if necessary."

* * *

Britain paced, occasionally picking up a random object and throwing it. Not even watching them shatter calmed his growing rage... Was it too much to ask for a little cooperation? All he wanted was Denmark's land; yet everyone thought he was asking for the world? Well perhaps he wanted that too. Part of the problem these days was that there were far too many chiefs and not enough Indians. One ruler would fix all of that, and he saw no good reason why he couldn't be that individual. Granted, all the other nations would have to die... so he'd have to re-populate the world again... so what?

Denmark was dead; so why was everyone acting like he was committing some grave sin in wanting to claim it before everyone else? What did he care if Denmark was Sweden's brother? The way he looked at it, the Scandinavia's had far too much as it was... too much influence over the rest of the other nations. One word from Sweden and everyone was scrambling in chaotic fear. Taking Denmark's land from him would weaken him, enabling other nations to sweep in and destroy him entirely. It was unheard of for so many nations to join under a common cause, helping to defend rather than take, and it seemed that common cause was to enrage Britain and prevent him from obtaining his main objective. Damn Prussia and Russia; the two of them weren't even friends, so why the hell were they forming an alliance together with Finland?

That alone convinced Britain that Denmark had died. Unlike his younger brother, Finland was a push-over, easily dealt with, forgetting the fact that he was over 125,000 years old. And then there was Spain... he'd make that romantic bastard regret making an alliance with Prussia. Until recently, he had never really had an issue with the albino... but his involvement with Scandinavia baffled and angered him. Britain knew how to deal with that though... all he needed was a bit of forceful persuasion, to drive a dagger right through Prussia's soul as he turned his allies into enemies. The doors to his chambers opened, and he turned, a hint of smile starting to form. "Did you get him?" he demanded. For the sake of the guard's and his families lives, the answer had better be a yes, and the human seemed to realize this as he glanced away and knelt, hand over his chest in a sign of loyalty and respect.

"He's in the church, my lord." Britain frowned; why did they bring him over there? Unless... There wasn't much that Britain feared, but if the boy was in the church, then that meant... Damn it! This was his campaign, he didn't need 'his' help! "I was ordered to deliver a message, my lord." The guard was visibly trembling now. He feared disobeying the one that had given the order, and he was afraid of Britain executing him when he did. "He's instructed that you set up the courtyard for a double execution."

"Why would I have it there? Besides, executions are done in the town square." Britain waved his hand, dismissing the petrified guard. Not that he couldn't have killed the idiot, but if he kept doing that, he'd have no one left that was willing to deliver unwanted messages. Leaving the castle, he quickly and quietly made his way to the cathedral, truly hating it with his entire being. He feared it just as much as the man that was at the top of the tower, already aware that Britain was on his way. The man knew everything, those eyes of his just as demonic as Prussia's. Those were the eyes of the devil, but the church didn't agree with him, and instantly made him regret ever comparing them to one another.

Their was only one way to the tower, and that was to climb a series of stairs that seemingly took forever. With each step, Britain lost more and more of his confidence, his hand trembling when he reached the door and pushed it open. He was just as he remembered, tall, powerful, black hair with flecks of green and purple in it. As he turned, it was those green-purple eyes that froze him in place, as if he knew every thought in his head before Britain had a chance to say them. In the corner was a familiar looking cage, one they often used for hauling individuals accused of witchcraft or demonic possessions. It wasn't empty, and despite himself, he inched closer. Inside was a young boy, one of his hazel eyes swollen shut, while the other regarded him with terrified anger. Around his neck was a spiked collar, his wrists and ankles secured and tied together behind his back. Britain thought it was a bit extreme, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Will Spain actually come for him?"

"Perhaps, but if not... I'm sure sending him back in pieces will serve as great entertainment." Britain visibly flinched, something the Italian didn't miss. Hearing no response, the man moved towards Britain and paused directly in front of him. "Look at me..." he commanded. Britain couldn't refuse, green eyes lifting and meeting green-purple orbs. "I've been a bit lax with you this past century." Britain didn't dare move, the man before him reaching for his blond hair, taking a strand and twisting it around his finger. "The sins of the father..."

"...become the sins of the son," Britain repeated without thinking.

"A display is in order, a reminder not only to your subjects, but to the other nations as well. The actions of a single individual have a profound affect on everyone around him or her... therefore, Spain needs a strong push to obey your every command without hesitation, and to do that, we need an example of what will happen to his little Italian should he refuse or hesitate. I don't have to re-iterate lessons from your childhood?"

"No, sir."

A cruel smile formed at the corner of the man's mouth, one that promised pain and death. "Oh... and your battle plans for Denmark... hold them off until the spring."

"May I ask why?"

"No." Releasing Britain from his grasp, he went back to the window and looked at the ocean. It was calm... and it angered him. "I've given Spain a week to respond. If he doesn't... well... I suppose the double execution will acquire an additional person."

"Won't that make Italy inhabitable?" Britain asked, ducking when a large vase went flying past his head.

"I have no care about what happens with the land nations; only that they know their place!" he whispered dangerously. "Question me again and you'll remember why it's in your best interest to keep your mouth shut!"

* * *

The following day, he was once again interrupted, France storming down the long length of his ball room. These days, it was empty, but that suited him just fine. "How dare you?" the blue eyed blond snarled, half tempted to draw his sword. "He is but a baby... You know damn well that I am friends with Spain, and you dare to..."

"You forget yourself, France," watching his former friend stop ranting, unaccustomed to Britain's calm interruption. "I am simply reminding everyone that we had an agreement, an alliance, and this petty defiance is not acceptable. We have a saying, my friend... spare the rod, spoil the child... Only in this case, Spain isn't a child. However, the sins of the father, often become the sins of the son. Therefore, I've decided to provide an example. In one week's time, if Spain refuses to assist in my campaign, Italy will join in the double execution I have planned."

"He's just a child!" France roared.

"Better to teach them early..."

"That's the damn church talking!" he spat. "What happened to the little boy that wanted to sail the open seas and look for treasure and new lands?"

There was a brief flicker of sadness in his green eyes, and he had to look away. He had to do this... if he didn't... no! His sins carried over to his people, and he had to remain resolute. "Tell Spain that he has a week," and Britain was gone, leaving France alone with a heavy heart.

France hadn't wanted to get involved, but he couldn't allow Britain to execute Italy. Perhaps he had enough time to form a rescue, hoping to prevent Spain from having to answer the summons. It was on the outskirts of Denmark's lands that a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows and intercepted him, as if he had known all along he'd come here. "Antonio?"

A sad smile appeared on the Spaniard's face, slender fingers pushing back his hood. "It's been awhile since I've heard that name... I have a request, mi amigo..."

"Mais oui... anything," France agreed. Spain looked suddenly very tired, his eyes filled with regret and sadness.

"If something were to happen... I mean, I'll try my best not to die, but... well, just let him know that I'm sorry and that it was always him that I wanted. I know I've joked and teased about wanting the younger Italian, but South Italy... he's special. He tries so hard to put on a brave face, but deep down he's vulnerable, lonely, and always compared to his younger brother. I love that boy, and he shouldn't have to die for my foolishness."

"How do we help him? If we say anything other than yes to Britain's demands, he will kill him."

"I'll do what I can to stall, but I doubt seriously he'll let me see or get near him. Please, see if Prussia or Finland have any ideas; if it means saving that boy's life and avoiding a war with the Austrian, Hugarian, and Holy Rome Empires, I will fight for Britain."

"What are you talking about?"

"Austria made it quite clear that if I fail to get back South Italy, he'd decimate my entire country."

"And Holy Rome would side with him?"

"It seems that Holy Rome has a fondness for North Italy; they all do. Take care, Francis." The mere fact that Spain had used his human name at all, made France all the more desperate to ask his enemies for help.

Briefly embracing him, his arms trembling slightly, Spain took a deep breath and left, making his way directly towards Britain. The stakes had never been so high, and France moved as fast as he dared. If it were just himself and his nation, he would have just hunkered down and stubbornly refused any involvement for as long as possible. And yet, when faced with such hopeless despair from a young nation that very few had wanted... how could he simply refuse to offer his assistance? He hadn't expected Spain to throw away his pride, or risk his most recent alliance with Prussia, but... at some point, Spain must have become attached. When had that happened?

The moment he crossed into Denmark, he felt the cold bite of Prussia's sword against his back, but instead of anger, he felt relief wash over him. He had to admit it, the nation was proving one of the best fighters in the world, and very few challenged him any longer. His empire had grown at an alarming rate, and he was no longer a little boy. It seemed all of them were growing, but that didn't mean they had to lose some of their more civilized behaviors. "I warned Britain..."

"I'm not with that imbecile!" France hissed, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed rage, turning his head so Prussia could see it for himself. "I bring a warning, and it is best said in front of who ever is leading this fiasco of yours."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Prussia snapped, the bite of his sword drawing blood from his beautiful skin.

"Idiot!" France roared, smacking Prussia's aside, and punching Prussia's jaw with all his strength. "I said I am not your enemy, but do that again and I may clearly change my thoughts on the matter!" Taking a deep breathe, he started to count, knowing that it wasn't his life on the line, but a little boy that more than likely thought no one cared to save him. "Look, I don't care if Denmark is dead or not... if you want to avoid a war with Spain, and possibly the other Empires as well, then I need to speak with Sweden."

Prussia hadn't wanted to believe that the man was serious, but no sane individual would openly seek out Sweden. "Why would he help Britain? I thought he had his hands full with Southern Italy still?"

"That is exactly why he would and will fight for Britain," France quietly answered. Mouth hanging open, Prussia tried to rationalize what France was telling him. He hadn't had a lot of time with the Southern Italian, but he had always felt bad for him. It wasn't easy growing up with every one wanting your twin, some even wishing to simply kill him off just so Northern Italy was the only Italian Nation.

"He actually cares enough to fight for him?"

"Yes, but even if he didn't, Austria didn't give him a choice; he said if South Italy dies, he'll level Spain to the ground."

Prussia truly felt sorry for the boy, and briefly considered taking him away from Spain. Lowering his sword, he quietly guided him through a heavily guarded, fishing village. France had no idea why Britain wanted this place... it was filthy, and... well other than the ports, he saw no true value in it. What the hell was Britain thinking? Just as they arrived at their headquarters, Prussia froze, eyes settling on the dark haired woman speaking with Finland. France, unable to stop himself, started to inch forward when he felt the sharp edge of Prussia's sword against his throat.

"Touch her, and I'll not waste my time with your explanations or warnings."

"Mon ami... What is the harm in a simple greeting?" His protest had alerted them to their presence, and Finland eyed the French nation with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"We have a problem," Prussia told them. He hadn't wanted to say anything in front of Atlantis, but he couldn't very well tell her to leave, not with Russia and France watching the situation with growing interest. "Britain has found a way to force Spain to fight for him." Prussia almost thought he had imagined it, but the flash of fury in the water nation's eyes had him almost backing away, but she had yet to move from Finland's side, and it was quite apparent that she had no intentions of doing so at this point.

"He's your ally, da?" Russia asked, having no sympathy for traitors.

"Yes, and normally I'd say he deserves what he gets; however, I'm not the one that has to decide between a newly formed ally, or a nation that's too young to fight back or defend himself." If he didn't know better, he'd say Finland's gaze had sharpened, his eyes going cold with rage. Russia had had that same look before he had shattered the ice that had temporarily imprisoned him. "Britain kidnapped and threatened to execute South Italy if Spain fails to comply with his demands."

A crack of lightning slammed into the ground, the waves suddenly rising up to form a wall that threatened to smash the very beach they stood upon, black hair whipping wildly back and forth as Atlantis trembled with a fury that left every man standing completely terrified. It was Finland that reached for her arm, his eyes just as cold and angry, so much like Russia's that it surprised the albino that he hadn't seen the similarities before. Spain and the great Roman Empire had special meaning to Atlantis, and hearing that Britain was not only threatening Spain, but abusing her friend's grandson... Another bolt of lightning landed mere inches away from where they stood, "Can you find and get him out," Finland asked her.

France suddenly didn't see Finland as a push over; but a deadly force of reckoning. Everyone, to include himself, had forgotten that he was the oldest of the Scandinavian brothers, and right now he was extremely angry. She nodded, her rage showing no signs of diminishing. Glancing at France, "How long do we have? I don't need an exact date, just a rough time frame?"

"The early spring; he'll probably want most of Spain's fleet near the harbor before he attacks with his land forces."

"How dare he exploit a baby nation? Does he not know that he will destroy all the lives connected to him?" Finland growled dangerously, the ground beneath their feet shifting and shaking. France's eyes widened. How old was Finland? Very few nations had this kind of power, and all the ancients had supposedly died. It wasn't just Finland or the woman, but Prussia and Russia were extremely angry as well. It was bad enough that everyone used South Italy to control the younger brother, but to threaten something so barbaric as execution... The entire southern half of Italy would rip and fall apart with him, making it completely useless and inhabitable.

Finland had known anger before, but never hate, and he was every bit as dangerous as his younger brother if not more. He didn't often declare war, rather he tried to avoid it or allowed Sweden to make those decisions. Ever since Denmark had fallen and disappeared near the Bering Strait, Britain had tried again and again to exploit their misfortune, and now he was involving other innocent and defenseless nations. He had had enough. If Britain wanted a war, he wasn't going to wait for it... that's not what Sweden would have done, and neither would he. "My brother would disagree with what I'm about to ask, but he hasn't known you the way I have..."

"He doesn't have a say in this..." Watching her walk away, the ocean and air around them reverting back to normal, he knew that she'd never stop until the boy was safely in her arms and out of Britain's reach to hurt.


	10. Power of Fear

The Power of Fear

Chapter Nine

* * *

Spain felt a tremendous amount of guilt as he followed after the heavy guard, knowing that his actions had caused the capture of Southern Italy. It was so easy to want the more well-mannered brother, but seeing the tears as the boy had turned and fled, the hurt anger... the despairing truth that he truly wasn't wanted. Perhaps if he had continued to act as if the younger Italian didn't matter to him, Britain might have let him go, but that would have simply resulted in the complete occupation over the Southern Italian territory. Austria had made it very clear... get Southern Italy back or he'd lose a lot more than just the boy. Running slender fingers through his reddish-brown locks, he kept a tight control over his emotions. He couldn't act desperate to see or save Southern Italy; but he did want a good show of faith that the boy was still alive.

Coming to the top of a large balcony, he froze, green eyes going wide at the sight before him. Tethered by five chains, one on each limb, and one around the neck, was some young lad, barely old enough to fight for his country, his eyes wild with fear as he pleaded for them to reconsider his punishment. At the end of each chain was some sort of wheel, and with each turn, the chains would wind tighter and tighter until the body was ripped a part. "It's a new device I'm trying out," a soft voice whispered into his ear, causing Spain to whirl around with a terrified gasp.

When had Britain become so enthralled with this kind of madness? He still remembered a small boy, often crying when France or Holy Rome tormented and chased him around with their swords. Like so many other young nations, he hadn't had an ancient, or even an older one like Finland was to his brothers, to help guide and support them until he was old enough to do so on his own. The Italian brothers had been lucky enough to fall under the control of Spain and Austria, but others had not been so fortunate. So many nations had come and gone, that he hadn't even bothered to take the time to learn them all.

Gazing into dark, green eyes, he knew then that Britain had absolutely no control over what was happening within his kingdom. The nobility and religious leaders were in charge, murdering its own people, and waging war against other nations if they thought they were strong enough to do it. No wonder Sweden had left with such a large show of force. If something truly had happened to Denmark, he had needed the distraction, a way to keep Britain from invading and taking what remained of the already hurting nation. The best way to finish off an injured nation, was to kill off the rest of his or her people. There was a minor possibility the nation might survive, but for how long, and why would he or she want to? It was the 'sickness,' and Spain never felt so tired or afraid. A sane man or nation he had the possibility of reasoning with, but not a nation that was consumed with a mad need to hurt, kill, and destroy.

"Leave us," Britain ordered. The guards looked ready to protest, but one seething glare had them obeying in an instant and closing the curtains behind them. Britain took Spain's arm, forced him to turn and face the execution ground beneath them, the crowd chanting and cheering as if it was some kind of every day show that was for entertainment instead of punishment. That same whisper brushed against the back of his neck, Britain resting his chin on the Spaniard's shoulder. "How do you like it?"

"It's barbaric," he snapped, surprised at the ferocity in his voice.

"No more so than your beloved toro events," he taunted, an arm wrapping around his middle. Spain tried not to let it bother him; the rules for lovers or sexual partners were not the same for nations as they were for the humans. If Britain wanted to truly subjugate him, he would, and if he tried to fight him, he'd instantly regret it.

"Do not dare speak to me as if this atrocity is the same as bull fighting?" Spain growled in fury, his entire body shaking. "That boy... what was his crime?"

"Oh nothing much... his father refused to enlist in the King's army, and this is his punishment."

Spain felt the blood drain from his face, easily picking up the underlying threat and promise behind Britain's accusation and decision. With one arm wrapped around his middle, he pointed towards a wooden platform, a man standing with a rope around his neck, swords at his throat, while he watched his son's pending execution. "Just punish the father then," Spain gasped, too horrified to say anything more.

"I considered it, but how would that convince another man from trying to disobey the king's orders? Besides, everyone knows that a child mimics the actions of his parents, in this case, the son will have eventually repeated his father's mistakes. So... I will kill them both."

"Britain, this isn't you..." Spain weakly protested, trying to get through to him. If he ever got the Southern Italian back, he'd spend the rest of his life fighting against this kind of 'sickness' in other nations, having them come up with a unified plan to stop it should it ever befall another nation, but that was later, and this was now. How did he save the people suffering under Britain's madness, and his Italian charge at the same time? "God... I am so sorry I wasn't around more to stop France and Rome from picking on you... I know you were lonely... please, I'll do anything... just don't do this," he pleaded.

For a brief moment, there was a flicker of confusion in the blond nation's eyes, an awareness of regret and guilt, fear and loneliness... "No..." he whimpered, pulling slightly back in horrified clarity. A single tear slid down his face, and he almost called off the execution, but then he recalled all the beatings, all the time spent inside of the church, the Pope demanding his allegiance and obedience. If he refused, people died... they died all the time... spare the rod, spoil the child. "The child will repeat his father's mistakes... This will show to them all, that disobeying the king's orders comes with a far heavier price than a simple whipping or hanging."

Pulling out a small rapier, he placed it between the smaller portion of Spain's back, his free hand lifting for them to turn the first wheel. "I could have gagged the lad... but that will spoil the effect." One turn wasn't enough to fully tighten the chains; they started out kind of loose to begin with, to heighten the fear, to send the watching crowd into a frenzy. What the hell was wrong with these people? He noticed it was mostly the rich in those balconies, and not the peasants or the local populace. Of course not, but the rumors would still spread, and this horrific execution would drive anyone to do as the king or religious leaders wanted. Britain was the people, and the people were Britain. In most cases, the nation was in complete control, but if they were too young, if the people were already mad to begin with... "I have another little incentive for you," Britain chuckled, nodding for his guards to draw a curtain.

Confined in an iron cage, chained like a dog, was Southern Italy, his eyes wide as they fell on to the human, the chains holding him suspended in the air... Italy screamed, forgetting any pretense of bravery... he tugged and struggled against his restraints, oblivious to the guards beating him and Spain felt the tears sliding down his tanned cheeks as he helplessly watched. At some point, Italy must have spotted them, his hazel eyes going wide at the site of Spain, the British Nation hovering dangerously close to him. There was fear and anguish in the Spaniard's eyes, something South Italy thought to never see in them. "I want both of you to watch... to know what will happen to him... just like I'm going to do to that traitor's oldest son. It hurts more when I do it this way... If you defy me... if you betray me, I won't punish you Spain. I will do far worse to that little brat of yours, and make you watch... just as you're watching now.

Spain tried to close his eyes, hearing the dreadful sound of the wheel turning... stopping. "YOU WILL NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Britain snarled, grabbing the back of his neck and shoving him forward and slightly over the balcony. The stone dug into his chest, the rapier at his throat... "SO HELP ME, IF YOU SO MUCH AS BLINK THROUGH THE REST OF THIS, I'LL STRING THAT BRAT UP, AND DO THINGS TO HIM THAT WILL MAKE YOU WILL HE WAS THE ONE ON THAT THING INSTEAD OF THE LAD. AM I PERFECTLY CLEAR?!"

"Si..." he half-choked, half-sobbed.

"LOUDER!" Britain roared, and Spain couldn't help but watch the silent tears falling on South Italy's face, watching the humiliation of Spain and his will to fight shattered as he complied. What choice did he have... He had come here expecting to hold his head high, to endure what was necessary, but this was not the actions of a nation in his right mind, but a nation under the full, and complete control of the monarchy and the church. "DID I SAY TO STOP? DID YOU WANT TO GO NEXT!" Britain roared at the executioners. As the wheels turned, Spain would hear those horrifying screams, and the sound of ripping limbs for the rest of his long life.

* * *

Britain traced Spain's pale face, the look of hopeless despair in those green eyes... that was what he wanted for Denmark and the idiots standing in his way... That had been way too damn easy. Maybe the key to bringing Sweden to his knees was finding something just as important to him. "You're not going to run away are you?" Britain asked him, tugging at the Spaniards coat.

"No," he mouthed, too numb to rationalize or cope with what was happening to him. If he did or said anything, South Italy would be the one in his nightmares... Snatching a handful of red hair, Britain snapped his head back, green eyes blazing with pure insanity... "You'll help me bring down Denmark, won't you?"

"Yes."

One worded answers; it was perfect, and Britain could only hope he'd have the chance to do the same to one of the others... maybe he'd do this with the Northern Italian... Austria was definitely too full of himself. "And if I wanted to hand you off to my Soldiers, to let them have a little bit of fun?" Fear flashed in Spain's eyes, but he didn't dare resist. Tapping his cheek, he laughed as he left the room, not bothering to use restraints or chains. With South Italy hidden, Spain would never run or disobey a single command.

* * *

France didn't like it, ducking behind a suit of armor as he watched Britain storm pass, a mad glint in his eyes. He had had a sinking feeling that something wasn't right with Britain, but nothing had prepared him for the broken nation that sat motionless in Britain's personal chambers, his top coat partially unbuttoned. Very quietly, he closed the door behind him and knelt, trying to bring the nation back to awareness. He was pale, tears still trailing down his cheeks... What the hell had Britain done to him? This was Spain, the son of an ancient... Why wasn't he trying to fight or run away?

"Italy..." he tried to speak, more tears starting to fall. "Please... get... him... out..." France had no idea what Britain might have done, but it had brought Spain to his knees. "I hear him screaming still... there's blood... it's everywhere." He continued to babble, and with great care, France brought the broken nation's head against his chest, and a loud sob escaped his lips, his fingers reaching up and clinging to France much like a broken child would. Over and over again, Spain screamed, a horrifying mess, and France had no idea what to say or do to fix this.

* * *

South Italy hadn't moved for a long time, too frightened that the guards might do to him what they had done to that human. The look on Spain's face, the terror, the realization that he was utterly at Britain's mercy, and the guilt as he gave him one look before he was dragged away. He had to find a way out of here... Damn that British bastard... he wasn't going to allow him to use South Italy to wage a war against Denmark. They wouldn't know he was being forced... how could they? And this wasn't Spain's fault, it was his for being such a brat all the time. He wanted a chance to say he was sorry, that he didn't want anyone else to take care of him. Over and over again, Spain had tried to show him patience and kindness, and he had always slapped it away with cruel words of hatred and spite.


	11. The Real Enemy?

The Real Enemy?

Chapter Ten

* * *

France had to carefully consider his options. It was quite possible Britain might throw him in the dungeon at this point, but if he hadn't done so now, he might wait a little while longer. There wasn't any way Britain might know that he had gone to Finland, and if he didn't find the little Italian, he'd lose his best friend. Taking a deep breath, he carefully pressed down the wrinkles in his shirt, ensured the tears had mostly dried, and stepped into the long hall. Britain, so certain of Spain's compliance, hadn't even bothered to set a guard. As if he hadn't a care in the world, France placed both hands behind his back and casually made his way to the banquet hall. Where many use to sit and enjoy dinner with the King and Queen, Britain sat alone, a cross in his pale fingers.

What did he say? How did he say it? And was there even a point to all of this? France should have seen this a long time ago; they all should have, but as young as they all were, it was next to impossible to recognize the signs of madness before it was far too late. In a human, they had the possibility of locking them way, but when it was the nation itself, it swept across the land like a terrible plague. It wouldn't stop with Britain, but spill over into the other countries like France and possibly Spain. "I was told that it was necessary to punish the sinners, Francis... that's what I did, so why are some of my people mad at me?" At least he didn't have to worry about being noticed, pretending that he was calm and understanding. "They aren't obeying... those that break the law... I had to punish that man, make an example of him... His son was just like him! Why can't anyone understand that?!"

A small part of Britain knew that what he was doing was wrong, but too many of his people thrived in this madness, and he had no possible way to fight it. How old was he when this had started? What had started it? The last good memory France had was of Britain running from the pope, desperate to grow out his hair. It had looked horrible, but after that, Britain didn't see him again until he was the man he saw before him now. Very carefully, France made his way to the mumbling Brit, reaching with his arms to encircle him, providing the one thing he was certain no one had ever given to him without force or threats. "Mon ami... you use to confide in me, non?" At first Britain said nothing, his eyes glazed and unblinking as he stared at the mirror across the room, and at the sad eyes of France. Why was he sad? France never looked at him that way, like... like... "Arthur... we are friends, at least we use to be."

They rarely used each other's human names, it was a vulnerability, but France wanted to think that there was still a sliver of humanity still left inside of Britain that he might find and latch on to. It was there, he knew he saw it as his green eyes sparkled for a moment, a flicker of hope before it vanished behind despair and rage. "I don't 'have' any friends..." he hissed, slapping France away and standing. "I still recall 'your' invasion upon my shores not even five years ago. Let's face it Francis; our only purpose is to conquer or be conquered, to kill or be killed. If the people refuse to comply, you smother their will to disobey. It was great... you should have seen how easy it was to crush Spain's will to fight, to utterly smash any hope he had of finding or rescuing that insufferable brat. Who'd want him anyway?"

Giggling, he turned and patted France on the cheek, his moment of sanity already gone. A nation had the ability to tap into the heart of all his subjects, and it was perhaps the peasants that he was slowly killing through taxation and starvation that had managed to get through to him. However, the nobility far outnumbered them, and the stronger the grip became, the harder it would be to break Arthur from the mental hold they had over him. Were they even aware of what they were doing to him? The church had a very strong influence in Britain, and their decisions often over ruled the king's law. It took a strong nation to keep them in line, but what chances did a child have over them? "I was wondering, may I attend the church while I am here?"

Britain froze, eyes wide in shocked surprise. "Are you wanting to convert?"

"That is what you wanted, non?"

"I don't think..." he stammered, that look of vulnerability back in his green eyes. "No... you can't! You have to stay away from the church!" There was real fear in his eyes now, as if remembering something that he'd rather forget. "You're not familiar with it... if you say or do something wrong, I'll have to enforce the law and execute you! I don't want you to go! I don't want to execute you! He'll make me do it!" Very quickly France moved, taking the young nation and hugging him as close as he could get him.

"You are a good 'friend' to worry for me, Arthur. If you think it's not safe, I will do as you ask."

"No... no... you have to stay far away. Promise me, you'll do it?"

"Arthur, did you accidentally make them mad?" France hoped he wasn't wording the question wrong; he had to figure out where the madness had started, to find a way to save this nation before it was too late.

He jerked away, looking left and right as if they were being watched. Grabbing France's hand, he pulled him into an empty room and locked the door. "Do you remember when I tried to grow my hair out," he whispered, his voice sounding small and frightened. "The pope was so mad... and they told him." Confused, seeing the raw fear in Britain's green eyes, France could only watch as he paced back and forth... His gaze would fly to the door, then the windows... "Do you remember?" he whispered again, sitting down and wrapping his slender arms around his knees.

"Mais oui," he encouraged, saying nothing more. He wanted Britain to open up to him, to fight past the madness that had such a terrible grip on him. Standing, he very slowly, as if each button he released and pulled away, was a grave sin, Arthur revealed the pale skin beneath. As he shrugged off his heavy coat and dropped it to the heavily carpeted floor, he bit his lip, as if afraid to reveal the horrible truth, and turned, France stumbling and falling over his own two feet. His back was covered in scars, as if the people that beat him had decided to leave nothing untouched.

"They said I enraged god, that my defiance wasn't good for the people. The church said that I wasn't above my own laws, and so... they went to 'him.' I knew he didn't really like me, but he had never really cared what I did up to that point, so long as I complied to what ever he wanted. He gave them his permission to string me up, in that same exact court yard, and they hit me until not a single piece of skin was left unmarked. It hurt... Francis... really really bad... and then they left me to hang there for weeks, saying as a nation, I wouldn't die. Every time someone broke a rule, I was the one they punished, stating that it was because of my disobedience that others thought they could do the same. I'm not afraid of the pope or the church... I'm afraid of 'him.' He says the church is necessary to instill law and order."

Francis couldn't stop the torrent of tears that fell down his face... they had done this to him, to a small child... and it was because of them that people were dying. Arthur didn't even know what was truly right or wrong, under the full grip of whoever sanctioned and controlled the church. Did they know... how would they have figured out that the people and their state of mind was directly influenced through the nation? If this individual had purposely driven Britain mad, then it would have a devastating impact on the rest of the nation. Rising to his feet, Arthur flinching away, his eyes filled with shame and fear. He had to find out, and with a gentleness he hadn't realized that he possessed, Francis brushed his fingers against the younger nation's cheeks, struggling to see through his tears. "It's okay..." Arthur said, a rare and bright smile spreading from ear to ear. "So long as I follow my own laws and enforce them, he won't have them punish me. That's the only time they're allowed to do that, you know."

He realized that Arthur hadn't grown up, his mind trapped between the child and the madness that had taken control of him. There was no other way for the boy to have survived what had been done to him. Could they possibly save him if they destroyed who ever was controlling him? Was the church even the real enemy here? Who was this 'he' that Arthur spoke of? "I will protect you, mon ami."

"You'll fight Denmark for me?"

"I'll fight for 'you', mon ami, nothing more and nothing less." Arthur didn't see the difference with that statement. Putting his jacket back on, he quickly left Francis alone, his emotions torn literally to shreds in a matter of hours.

* * *

France gaped, quickly letting her into his room, and shutting the door. "Ma cherie! You should not be here!" he protested, his voice a whisper of exasperation. As if she had nothing to fear, not that he didn't himself, she moved to his bed and sat, tucking her tiny feet beneath her. Normally he wouldn't have minded such a beautiful woman in his chambers, but he knew she wasn't here for pleasure; not to mention he'd have an extremely enraged Finland if he tried. "What if he decides to come here?"

"I'm not afraid of a mere child," she countered.

"A child no, but one that controls the child, yes." He knew he had her then... a flicker of fear in her eyes that she quickly blinked away. Perhaps she was not as brave as she liked to portray, her gaze moving towards the window. "I have tried to understand this place, traveling from village to village. They are suffering, starving, persecuted, and wrongly executed."

France tiredly sat as far away from her as possible, determined that his intentions would remain honorable. Was this woman testing him? It must be that... those eyes... they were so hard to resist, so he did the only sane thing possible and turned around. Her chuckle made him want to question himself as a man... Was he not the nation of love? He had taken more lovers, men and women alike, and yet he feared what might happen if he dared to make such an attempt with her. "Land nations baffle me; do not all men have a desire for beautiful women."

"I believe you are better admired from afar than up close."

Suddenly he felt like he can breathe, and when he risked a glance at her, he didn't feel so intent on jumping across the room and pinning her down, and sating himself. "Perhaps you are not as weak as I first assumed," she admitted.

"I am still a man... why are you here, anyway?" He knew she had made his desire for her less painful; and until now, he had never thought a nation that alluring or tempting, at least not to other nations.

"The situation in this nation baffles me."

"It's a lot worse than you think," France agreed. Turning back around, he took a deep breath and met her gaze. It was still hard, but if he concentrated on the recent discoveries he had made, he'd force himself to endure however long it took to tell her what she needed to know, and make her leave. This was borderline painful for him, and after tonight, one should put him on the list for saint hood. No one should have those beautiful eyes, long hair... "Zut alors!" he swore, clearly agitated that a woman had the ability to make him feel like a young lad again. He was a grown man... supposedly in control of his more basic urges.

As if amused, she took the hood of her cloak and pulled it over her head, and suddenly he could breathe again. "Better?" she asked, laughter in her voice.

Scowling, he crossed his arms, wondering why the gods were taunting him. "I need you to ask Finland something... I'd go... but there's no guarantee that I'm not being watched." There was a clear reprimand in his voice, as if to tell her that coming here was stupid and reckless.

"Ask your question."

"Is it possible to manipulate one of us?"

She went very still, tossing back her hood, and moving so close that he thought he'd die from lack of oxygen to his brain instantly. Her eyes were a storm of anger, fear, sorrow... so many emotions, and he couldn't look away. Very gently, she reached for his chin, turning his head from side to side, as if she were searching for something. With a sigh of relief, she released him and pulled back, ensuring to pull her hood back into place.

"Yes, it's possible. I have a feeling you wouldn't have asked such a question, or have the knowledge to ask it if you hadn't stumbled across someone in such a predicament."

France remembered the scars... a child trapped in madness and fear. He had promised, and he'd gladly give his life to keep it. "How is it done?"

"There's a couple of ways, both forbidden. My memories are still locked away, slowly returning, and I'm afraid I cannot give you all the answers that are needed. I can tell you this... a nation that's under the control of another is extremely dangerous."

"I think I've already figured that out."

"Nations like Finland, Iceland, Norway, Denmark, Sweden... they had ancients like Scandinavia helping them to mature and develop. Some nations are not so fortunate... They are vulnerable, easily invaded and destroyed without ever realizing what they are, or who they are. It was before your time, and Finland despite being old enough, would not have the answers you are wanting. A nation is born to the land itself, a child, innocent, and with no real need or desire other than that he or she is connected to it. If the land itself dies, so does the child. There is a misconception that if the people die, the nation will die. That is not entirely true, but it does greatly influence that decision. A nation can still exist without a people."

She spoke as if she had endured such a thing... and France wasn't sure if he should pity or respect her for it. How does a nation find the will to live without its people? A young nation, to truly thrive, relies on the older ones."

"So nations like South and North Italy... the older nations, instead of destroying and taking their lands, choose to take them in until they're able to rule their nations without assistance?"

"Exactly. It's not saying that the older nations will not retain some measure of control over them, but for the most part, the decisions made are their own. That is how alliances are made; at times they weaken and break, but reform and strengthen."

"What happens to a nation that is terrorized, tortured, and badly abused?"

"The entire nation will suffer."

"Britain... He's who I speak of." Atlantis stood, moving to the window, stared at the full moon. It was breath taking, shining peacefully on the water below. She had brief memories of her time before the Great War, but not how her city fell, or why she was suddenly so afraid. "There are scars on his back, and he flips back and forth between a frightened little boy, to a nation that sounds too much like the church."

"And you do not think it is the church controlling him?"

"Yes... and no... Britain never said his name, but he made it quite clear that he wasn't afraid of the church, but the man giving them their orders."

"A human is not capable of controlling your kind; however, if enough of them become violent or corrupted; the nation can turn as well." Atlantis knew it wasn't the latter... not enough of the people were consumed with a mad lust for power, only a small portion. "I'm afraid we're dealing with an extremely powerful ancient; one that none of us remember or know of."

"Are you an ancient?"

"I was..." Turning around, she gave him an apologetic smile... "I'm afraid I'm not exactly what my brother had hoped... I will inform Finland and the others."

"Thank you."

Making her way to the door, she hesitated, her fingers brushing against the brass handle... "France... this situation is very dangerous... please take care. I will do my best to find Italy, but... there's a possibility we might have to destroy Britain in order to save the rest of Europe."

"Won't this ancient just find another target?" She felt helpless, as if everything was starting all over again... and her mind was too broken for her to help them in the way that they needed. She was ancient... one of the strongest... and yet she could do nothing except stare back at France with regret and shame. This was her fault...

* * *

Finland looked over his charts, trying to figure out the best landing points into Britain when he sensed her... Unlike the other land nations that had never seen her before, he was relatively immune to a lot of her more alluring traits. Then again, he had known her kind longer, and he just had a lot more tolerance than the younger nations did. He had to admit, he hadn't expected her to return as an adult, had considered asking how that had happened, but refrained. "Can I ask you something?" she whispered, her voice uncertain. Thankfully he was alone right now, Russia and Prussia on guard. They rarely took the day shifts, feeling that an attack most often occurred when guards fell asleep.

"You don't ever have to ask for permission; in all honesty, as old as I am, I'm still a child in comparison."

She wanted to smile, but what she had to ask, would he really answer her? The brothers were very secretive when it came to her, and never spoke of where she came from or how? "Have you ever come across a nation controlling another?"

Finland froze, putting aside his maps, and giving her his complete and undivided attention. "The only ones capable of doing that were water nations and you're the last."

"Am I?" she insisted.

"Oceanonis had no reason to lie about that; and he should have known if there was another."

"How did I end up on your shores, Finland?"

"No... ask any other question, but not that one!" He knew she had the abilities to force his answer, but he trusted her not to. "Listening to you screaming every night for a century is enough reason to keep your past where it belongs; in the past."

"Even if doing so might mean the destruction of the land nations?"

"Atlantis..."

"Finland, I don't want to relive my past, but I don't think we have a choice in the matter! Please, I need to know what happened."

"Why? Tell me why and I might consider it," he shouted, startling her at the ferocity of his rage. "You have no idea how long it took for just your minor burns to heal... the gaping wounds took even longer... that was a century! Even though your an adult now, your memories are fragmented, and we had to take turns, helping you sleep. You woke... every damn night, screaming and clawing at your flesh... begging for us to kill you. You couldn't remember who we were, who you were... As I said... your past belongs exactly where it's at; in the past!"

"I don't have a choice, Finland!"

"We all have a choice!" he roared back. "I'm choosing not to tell you!" Opening the door, he stormed out. She had been with them for a long time now, and until that moment, she had never seen Finland lose it. Behind that anger, however, there was fear. He had answers to some of her questions, but unless she forced him, she'd have to find another way to get them. An hour later, Prussia found her on the docks, her gaze stuck on the moon's reflection in the water.

"I'm not even sure if I want to know how you set him off... he's tearing through Sweden's stronger warriors as if they were little boys." Atlantis closed her eyes... trying to remember... trying to understand. Why was Finland so angry? "France believes that our real enemy isn't Britain, but the one manipulating and controlling him."

"Is that possible?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I..." She didn't want to admit that her memories kept the answers locked away; were they so bad that even Finland didn't want to give her the key to unlocking them?

"It's okay... if you feel that we should investigate further, we will."

"Can we afford to wait?"

"For now, we need to focus on finding Italy and getting him out of there."

"I know, but..." Atlantis couldn't explain the terrible fear that she had; Finland refused to believe there was another water nation, but she wasn't so certain. Why would Oceanonis lie? That was simple... to protect her. If Finland and the others had known... Oceanonis risked them forsaking her when she needed their strength the most. For that alone, she felt resentment and anger towards her brother, when in the past she had simply accepted his decisions.

"Hey..." She glanced at those red-eyes, the ones that reminded her of what she had lost. "The awesome Prussia is yours to command. All I need is a location and an enemy... the rest is easy."

She wanted to believe him, but Atlantis already knew that if she found Italy, she'd rescue him alone. Her brother's decisions had possibly endangered the Scandinavian brothers, and if that were true, she'd never forgive him or herself if they should die as a result. "I should go." With a sad smile, she brushed aside one of his pale locks, amazed at how similar, yet different her nephew was compared to his father.

"Wait..." just as he reached for her, she was gone.


	12. Italy's and Spain's Rescue

Italy's and Spain's Rescue

Chapter Eleven

* * *

He hadn't had this kind of a challenge in close to a hundred years, not since the last water nation had denied him his certain victory. She, and the seven nations that connected to her, had withstood his mind compulsion; not that a water nation made it easy to begin with. They were fully capable of putting up the mental defenses necessary to prevent him from taking them over, forcing them to do whatever he wanted. However, most of them hadn't seen him coming, and one-by-one, he destroyed and took their powers. In the end, she had surprised him and vanished. No one knew what had happened to the infamous Atlantis, nor did they know that her city was the first to fall. That should have been more than enough to weaken her, but he hadn't counted on her connection to the entire Atlantic Ocean, the creatures within it, and to his shock, the coastal areas of Spain.

Other than Oceanonis, she shouldn't have been immune, and as a result, she had managed to stand in his way to conquest. This young Italian Nation was too much like her, filled with defiant hatred, resisting his attempts at controlling him with every ounce of will power. Blood trickled from his mouth, ears, and nose; no longer able to move or protest. At first he had found his resistance amusing, now he was just irritated. The boy would eventually break... he didn't give a damn if he had a mind left when he was finished.

"It's simply easier to give in, little Italy." Applying more pressure to his mind, he saw the Italian twitch in agony, so close to giving in. "All you have to do is submit... the pain will stop... eventually."

South Italy had no idea what day it was anymore; he couldn't even remember the last time he had seen Spain. The pain was so bad that he often passed out, only to wake up to start all over again. A small part of him was so close to giving him what he wanted, but... Feliciano... he had to focus on his little brother. His entire life, everyone had always compared him to Feliciano, telling him that he was nicer, more lovable. Maybe it was true... The one thing that made him better than Feliciano though... he was stronger, and he'd never give into this bastard regardless of how bad it hurt.

Feliciano cried a lot... and he hated violence more than anything else. Both brothers believed that it was war that had somehow taken Grandpa Rome away from them, and it was his grandpa's fighting strength that he'd gather inside of himself, twist and use it so that he'd somehow keep this bastard from taking him over like he had so many others. Something soft and gentle brushed against his mind, and for a moment he thought the bastard was attacking him again. No wait, he had gone somewhere, leaving him on the floor.

Opening his hazel eyes, he noticed that the room was empty, left in a pool of his own blood. He longed for a bath, to rid himself of the stench that coated his body. The bastards didn't even let him go to the bathroom, letting him go in the very spot he slept in. _You don't have a lot of time... can you move?_

He wanted to tell whoever was talking to him to go to hell, but it didn't hurt like it normally would with the other guy. _There's a drain close to where you are and you're small enough to crawl through it._

His fingers twitched; it surprised him that he was able to do that much. He wanted to go back to sleep, to escape the pain in his head, but the voice in his head pleaded with him to stay awake, as if this was perhaps his only chance at escape. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't chained to the wall like he had been. Oh yeah... the bastard had taken them off.

He was far too weak to stand, but not impossible to crawl. Regardless of how small or big the movement, it hurt, white spots at the edges of his vision. _We have eyes on Spain, but we can't do anything until we have you._

Spain... he was still here? The thought made him smile... even if it was just a small one, and he finally made it to the drain near the edge of the wall. Covering it were old, and rusty bars, ones that he had to somehow crawl through if he were to escape. _I know I'm asking a lot, Little Italy... You have no reason to trust that I'm not going to hurt you the way he has, and I'd not use this method of communication if I had any other way. Once you crawl through, it will drop you to the bottom of the church, but we won't let you hit the ground._

He didn't trust this person, but what other choice did he have. If he stayed, that bastard would come back and start hurting him again, and he only hoped that this person's intent was either to save him, or kill him immediately. He didn't have the strength to do it himself at the moment, and with tears he hadn't allowed to fall in several days, he crawled the rest of the way into the tiny hole, just large enough for him to fit. Sure enough, there was a large hole, and he couldn't see the bottom.

Maybe he was hallucinating, but he knew one thing. If he was wrong and there wasn't someone down there to catch him... Would the fall be enough to kill him? He risked the lives of his people, his country, but what that man was doing to him was far worse. The sound of the door opening was all he needed to drag himself the rest of the way and over the edge. He didn't scream... on the off chance that there was someone, he didn't want the man to find them right away.

Between the top and the bottom, he fell unconscious, a pair of strong arms catching him, red eyes staring down at him in horrified shock. Afraid to put him down, afraid to carry him... Prussia gently cradled him close to his body and crept back to the edge of the water tunnel. Looking up at him from the Atlantic, she nodded, already heading off towards the castle. His first instinct was to jump into the ocean, but she had given him a clear warning, stay... Finland was so going to kill them both if he found out what they were doing, but refusing Atlantis was like asking himself to suddenly stop fighting and hand over all of his lands to his enemies.

* * *

He returned to an empty tower, blood stains on the expensive carpet. His eyes scanned the room, seeing no way the boy could have escaped, not without passing through the stairway. The window was still locked. He cursed his failure to re-secure the brat, and then he saw it, the small drain. He was far too large to fit into it, but he had other ways of gathering the information he needed.

Walking over to the drain, he knelt, reaching in to touch the cool stone, sensing the water connected to it. Closing out all sound, he concentrated, searching... and nothing. Baffled, he tried again, and failed. And then he understood. Parts of the church connected to the Atlantic as well as the English Channel and Irish Sea. He had absolutely no control or connection to the Atlantic, that power denied to him.

Ripping open the tower door, he descended the stairs two at time, everyone ducking out of his way as he stormed past, windows shattering, clouds forming and swirling above. "I want a search on the Atlantic Coast! Now! Spain, bring him to me!" No one dared to defy him, regardless if the Soldiers that he ordered around belonged to Britain.

Stepping into the brisk air, he breathed, allowing the sound of the ocean to wash over him. The only connection he felt from this area was to the Irish Sea and English Channel, a power he had stolen from the British Isle Water Nation that had once protected it. The Atlantic and all the nations connected to her in the southern waters of Spain, had been the only ones not to fall to him. She had taken that from him! Shrugging out of his bothersome, 'human' clothes, he flexed his arms, took a running leap and dove towards the welcoming embrace of the water. He might not have the connection to the Atlantic, but he still felt its incredible power, the currents, the link it had to the European Land Nations, and the one they had yet to discover. Damn Oceanonis! If he had had his, power, he wouldn't need hers. Unlike all the water nations, he had possessed control over it all. He'd eventually find where the ancient had hidden it; in the mean time, he had a bothersome Italian to find. At first his immunity to enthrallment or mind control was amusing, but now he considered it dangerous to his main objectives. The boy had to die; was it just this one, or was his younger twin the same? He'd focus on that later.

Legs turning into a purple and green tail, he quickly made his way to where the drain would have led to, the human waste leading from the church and into the ocean. It was disgusting, but he dismissed that thought as he began to search for the boy, wishing he had the ability to sense him. If he had been in any other body of water other than the Atlantic, that wouldn't have been a problem. Above, a boy began to stir, a hand covering his mouth. "Don't talk, don't move, and stay calm." Prussia had seen him from their vantage point, rising every so often, searching the cliff, the rocks, and only briefly the tunnel they were hiding in. Finland had said she was the only one... was that why Atlantis had brought him along? She had given a clear warning not to leave the Tunnel, not until she had time to get to Spain. He only hoped that she hurried, judging from the alarms sounding throughout the castle, her opportunity of escape was quickly closing.

* * *

France quickly opened the door, closing it as she entered. "Is he safe?"

"Not yet, but he doesn't know of Prussia or that they're still hidden beneath the church's foundation. Did you get Spain?" France's gaze drifted to the motionless nation, his green eyes no longer filled with happy, an optimistic cheer. "I had to half drag, and half carry him."

"France... you can't stay here."

"I have no choice, mon amie."

"We all have choices," she protested, touching his cheek with a trembling hand. The fact that she was frightened alarmed him. She had never said what or who she was, but he had a strong hunch that she was an ancient, powerful, brave... "I know that you want to save him, but you can't do that if you're dead or under the control of another ancient."

"There's another?"

"Yes... My memories won't let me remember who he is or was, but I do know that he's very dangerous."

"I'm not afraid..."

"You stubborn child!" she hissed, wrapping her arms around his neck to hug him close. "When have the hearts of men changed so much that they are willing to follow their hearts instead of their own selfish desires?"

"Are they not one and the same? It is when we place others before our selves that makes it so noble, oui?"

"France... he is not like the other nations... just to look at him, you will want to do as he wants... and that's only a small portion of what he's capable. There is a reason why there are no other ancients, and until I remember, I ask that you abstain from challenging him. Please, I beg of you; for the sake of Spain, Italy, and the friend that you wish to free from his control."

"What do you need me to do?"

"You must find Finland and Russia; we will head to Denmark from the North Sea. If he's not there..." She didn't want to tell him that the ancient was going to come after them, especially once he realizes that a water nation was helping them... He won't know which water nation she was, but with him in the water searching, he'd eventually figure out where they were going and cut her off.

"Why not travel over the land?"

She had considered it, but Britain's Soldiers were blanketing the area, their orders to find and re-capture South Italy. They had no idea that he was still within their borders, and Prussia was going to keep it that way until it was safe enough to move. Shouts echoed further down the corridor, and France gently pushed her away. It was not him they were after, but Spain. If he left with them, it could endanger his people, and he couldn't risk it. "I will do as you ask; take care."

Closing and locking the doors to his chambers, France quickly walked down the corridor to find himself surrounded by several guards and Britain leading them. "Have you seen Spain?" he demanded.

"I have only recently awakened from a pleasant dream, mon ami." Britain's green eyes narrowed. Considering his close relationship with the Spaniard, France had every reason to lie to him.

"Then you won't have a problem with the guards searching your room?"

"No..." France stammered, watching the upward curve of Britain's mouth. They had known each other long enough, that Britain didn't even have to say anything else... He knew that France had somehow taken and hidden Spain, but he wouldn't have taken him far, not with the speed in which he had gathered the guards and closed off the kingdom.

Reaching for the key in his pocket, unable to stop the inevitable, France opened the door and watched as the guards rushed in and scattered. They weren't gentle in the way they threw the furniture, over turned the bed, and yet as they cleared each chamber... shouts of clear ringing out... Britain's growing fury, France had to call forth all of his acting skills and struggle not to laugh. "See... no Spain."

Pulling out his sword, he pressed the blade against France's throat. "If I find out that you're responsible for all of this..."

"Only an idiot would stay if they were guilty."

"On the contrary..." Britain sneered, the cold steel biting into his flesh. "You'd stay just to throw the scent off your trail."

Blue eyes narrowing... "I said I will help 'you', did I not?"

"I suppose you did; didn't you? Fine, you're going to help me find them; together..." Britain hissed. No, he didn't have the proof that he needed to blame France, but he didn't trust that he wouldn't take off now that he no longer had Spain under his control.

* * *

She had had no time to think, her body pressed tightly against the Spaniard to prevent them from falling. He didn't move, didn't talk, his gaze unseeing as the Soldiers ripped France's room apart. This wasn't going to work if she couldn't bring Spain back to reality. Why had her brother entrusted her with so much power; she had no idea how to use it, and these land nations needed her now more than ever. Staring into his green eyes, she felt herself shiver... there was something about this one... she couldn't quite describe it, but she didn't have time to dwell on the feeling. Was he a descendant to one of her island cities? No, wait... she had had a presence in areas of Spain and Italy as well. All the territories that connected to the water had a land nation that was just as connected to a water nation, and for Spain it was more than likely one of her allies, and ultimately herself.

Why couldn't she remember?! Angry at herself, terrified that she might result in this nation's death... All the answers she needed were locked away inside of her mind, and with a desperate cry, she closed the remaining distance between her and Spain, capturing his frozen lips with her own, reaching for the power Oceanonis had gifted to her, and flooded Spain with it. What she was doing was equally as dangerous as mind control... she had no other option. If Spain didn't come back to them... No, she was going to do this; she won't fail him like she had everyone else. She'd give him a reason to live and fight again.

"Spain... you have to fight... there's a little boy who desperately needs you." Each whisper jolted him closer and closer to the world of pain and suffering, but it wasn't the sound of screaming that he heard, but a soft whisper of encouragement, of faith and love... not the kind of love that one felt in a heated moment of passion, but the kind of love one held for his people, for his country, and for the children that wanted only a word of praise and affection. Why was he giving up? Was he not a proven warrior; did he not know how to stand up and fight? He knew that he risked everything if he opposed Britain, but if he did nothing, South Italy would die regardless.

He blinked... the night bathed in a rainbow of colors, pulsing around him, healing and comforting his injured soul. He blinked a second time, and that same light began to dim, leaving him awake and alert outside of France's chambers. Pressed up against him, was perhaps the most enchanting creature he had ever laid eyes upon. Pulling back, using his wide shoulders to brace herself, she glanced into his green eyes, and smiled in relief. Reaching for her hood, she started to pull it back over her head when he stopped her, his strong fingers reaching for her dark hair. "I know you..." he whispered, awe in his voice. She wanted to ask... but her world spun out of control. She had to stay awake, but she had used far too much power.

Spain easily held her as she slumped forward, one arm wrapped around her waist, while the other kept a firm hold on the side of France's window. He had no idea how he had gotten out here in the first place, and then there was the woman... he knew exactly what she was, but he had thought her long since past from the world of men. It couldn't be helped, until the search moved away from the royal guest chambers and further into the city or country side, he had to linger on the balcony of an old castle. He only hoped that Italy was safe, but if she was here, then France must have somehow managed to get word to Finland and his allies.


	13. A Game It Is

A Game It Is

Chapter Twelve

* * *

 _He's a hybrid..._ She didn't move, standing between the boy's dead mother, and the enraged water nation. _He won't have a use for the power she gave him... stand aside, Atlantis..._

 _I won't let you have the power of the Atlantic regions._

 _I already have the British Isles._ She visibly flinched, pushing the boy further back, his sobs the only sound rising above the frantic beat of her terrified heart. _You've been a rather annoying thorn in my side... I wonder... our challenges have always been undecided. With the power I've stolen up to this point, I do believe we're no longer even considered equals. I could take you, bend you entirely to my will, and then suck every ounce of your power away before turning it on the coastal regions that should have never had our power or protection to begin with!_

 _They are of the water, just as you or I._

 _They are hybrids! Why would either world want them? They are nothing, weak..._

 _These hybrids are far from weak, and you'd do well to remember that as you focus your eyes upon Spain and Italy._

One-by-one, the survivors to the war, 'he' had started, rose from the water and joined her, forming a barrier between the boy and their enemy. _We will not give you Spain, and you will not have the islands of Atlantis,_ they said in unison. There were five of them, their power glowing around them in one of the seven colors of the rainbow. Lifting their hands, they flooded Atlantis with it, knowing that to do so would not only destroy themselves, but their nations as well... what choice did they have? They didn't have the strength or power to stop him, and if he succeeded at absorbing their powers, he'd finally have enough energy to smash the ruler of the Atlantic Ocean and they couldn't and wouldn't allow him to do that.

Atlantis stared at where they had been, eyes wide in horrified shock, overwhelmed with grief and hate. She had so much power, and yet...

* * *

That memory, despite the century that had passed, was still very fresh in his mind. The 'Great War', had started long before that, but towards the end, she had been one of the last to stand between the hybrids and the crazed water nation. What happened afterwards, he wished he had the ability to forget, one arm locked around her waist, while the other held on to the side of the bed chamber's window. There were so many scars covering her body, evident of the battles she had waged against an ancient that seemed hell-bent on destroying the entire land nation world. In order to do that, he had started stealing power from the water nations, killing them and their people in the process.

He had no idea how he had gotten out here... the last thing he remembered was watching the double execution, and then everything had blacked out. She looked similar to the way his mother had, after she had transferred all of her power to him. Pulling her closer, he continued to wait. What choice did he have? If he tried to climb back into the chamber, the double guard left behind would hear the sound of the opening window, and there wasn't a chance in hell he'd manage to get her in safely and find a suitable weapon to fight with.

A shift in the way she rested against him alerted him that she was conscious again, and he took a moment to glance from the guards to her. Her expression seemed worn down, resigned almost, and he felt a rare anger begin to emerge. This was not the same woman that had stood between him and that water nation, her eyes so lost and uncertain that he couldn't help but want to tuck her away and ask what the hell was she doing and thinking?

"You were that boy... on the beach?"

How could she not remember that? She was the reason he was even still alive, but as he looked into those incredible eyes of hers, he knew that her memories were as broken as the rest of her. "Are you able to move okay?"

"I used too much power," she admitted tiredly, a flicker of regret flashing in her eyes. Risking it, he pulled his other hand away from the wall and touched her pale cheek, amazed that she was even allowing it.

"As grateful as I am, please..." She touched his lips, shaking her head for him to say no more. Atlantis wouldn't allow anything to happen to him, and they both knew it. Broken memories or not, she couldn't allow any more of the hybrids to die. They were all that was left of her shattered world, and despite what was said that day, they were extremely powerful, possessing gifts from two worlds instead of only the one.

Oceanonis was wrong, despite what Finland and the others wanted to believe. There were other water nations still alive, regardless if they were of the land or not. They had forgotten one important component; the island nations... Spain, Britain, and even Italy fell into those categories, most of their land surrounded and connected to the water. As such, they were unique to the other land nations, and she sensed it in the way he held her, the draw to him despite her best efforts to ignore it. He wasn't even trying to mesmerize her; a male water nation was like honey to a bee... and she was 'not' immune to it.

With that being said, she now understood why the enemy had gone after Britain... he was a water nation, unaware of his power or abilities, abused and molded into a crazed version of the man she had fought against for several thousand years. It wasn't until the end that her island nations had made the ultimate sacrifice, forcing Oceanonis to get involved for the first and only time. The more memories that came back to her, the angrier she became, enraged that all of them had been abandoned and left to die.

"Don't," he growled, nipping at her finger and holding on to it, watching her eyes go wide in startled confusion... "do that." She couldn't pull away, not if she didn't want to fall a few hundred feet to the rocks below, and he had the advantage of having his back and feet firmly planted against the balcony. There was a predatory gleam in his green eyes, as if considering something other than finding a way to escape. "I believe the rumors of you are very inaccurate."

"Rumors?"

Releasing her finger, he cupped her chin and tilted it back, waiting for that look that understood what he was doing and what he seemed to want far more than stable ground. "Atlantis the Ice Queen, heartless and the death to all males... all that have sought to challenge her in battle have fallen, destined to a life forever alone."

He noted the flash of pain, the truth behind his words, and he refused to let her look away from him. "They're not wrong," she whispered, flashes of each duel as clear as day in her mind. "So many came, so many demanded that I fight them... And yet... I had no regret at watching them slide off the blade of my spear, their only desire for the crown upon my head, and the vast amount of power that I possessed."

"They were wrong," he corrected, his grip unrelenting as he lowered his head to hers, their lips almost touching. He didn't follow through, knowing that if he held a part of himself back now, he'd win far more than a simple little battle with her later. Atlantis was still a warrior, courageous, selfless... when it came to matters of the soul however, she was as clueless as a child taking his first steps or saying his first words. "I see a woman worth far more than some petty little title or the crown upon her head... no, beneath the weapons, and the uncertainty, there is a woman full of passion and love."

"Love is dangerous..."

"Is it?"

"Idiot," she hissed, struggling to reason with him, and failing miserably. "If love means falling off this balcony or getting caught... then yes... yes it is." Spain gave her a feral smile, and she didn't even want to attempt at understanding what it meant. "Besides... I can't fall in love with someone that hasn't forced my submission in combat."

"Is that your only requirement?"

"Yes... I mean no..." She had no idea what she wanted at the moment... He was just making it extremely hard to focus, and why did she have that requirement anyway?

"I suppose I'll have to accept."

"Don't make it sound like a chore!" she snapped, fury flashing in her eyes. For the first time since all of this had started, she felt alive, as if Spain didn't give a damn either way if she was a water nation, a land nation, broken and confused... He didn't care if she was a queen or not, that she was once the powerful ruler of the entire Atlantic Ocean and more... He had power of his own, content to keep what he had, and protect those that he cared for.

"Now that you're more alert..." He smirked, turning his attention back to the guarded bed chamber. "Are you still any good with a sword?"

"Sweden and Denmark made sure of it," she challenged back, amused at the flicker of annoyance in his green eyes.

"Those neanderthal's wouldn't know the proper use of sword... mon dieu! I suppose before we have our little challenge, I will have to ensure that you're fully capable of accepting first."

She was incredible to watch as her eyes lit up, fury swirling inside of them, a thunderclap of rage echoing in the distance. That was the Atlantis he knew, the one they needed if they were going to make it out of this mess. "A little game then?"

"I suppose," he said in that same bored tone, struggling so hard not to laugh.

"It's quite apparent that we cannot get out of here without a fight; however, we are not to kill any of them!" He started to protest, but she tapped his lips with a single finger, pulling it away just as he went to bite it again. "I have my reasons; the person with the most knock outs and least amount of injury wins.

"Why would we not kill them?"

"They are under someone else's control, and until I've had time to deal with it, I'd rather not hold them accountable."

"And the rewards to the winner?"

"Self satisfaction?" she challenged, but Spain wasn't having it, the corners of his mouth curving upwards.

"I have a better idea. If you lose, you're to give me one hour of your time to train every day for an entire month; my choice of weapons, and out of the water."

"I don't need..."

"Winning shouldn't prove a challenge then," he taunted.

Moving to the window, he quickly pushed it open, jumped down and rushed the startled guard. With a painful blow to the face, he watched him drop like a heavy sack of potatoes. "That's one..."


End file.
